


The Last Stand

by BehindBrokenWindows



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Different POV's, F/M, ending fix-it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-08 00:15:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 22,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19860379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BehindBrokenWindows/pseuds/BehindBrokenWindows
Summary: The battle of King's Landing is all that remains of Daenerys Targaryen's conquest of the Seven Kingdoms. With Lord Davos Seaworth commanding the battle against Euron Greyjoy on Blackwater Bay and Jon Snow, recently revealed to be the secret - and legitimate - son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark, commanding the forces outside the city gates, the innvading army makes its last stand to seize the heart of the power of Westeros, while dragons soar through the air over-head.*A/N: Personally I think the ending to Game of Thrones makes no sense - so I tried to fix that! I will warn you; many of the characters' endings remain the same (though not all), but the journey is entirely a different one! I'm trying to show how, with little changes, D&D could have avoided ruining 10 years of build-up, let's see how I do, compared to them!*Finished, around 20k words, update every day*





	1. Jaime

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, and thank you for coming here!
> 
> I realise I should have posted this when the GOT disaster was still fresh in people's minds, but I hope I'm not so late that everyone has lost interest!
> 
> So, about this - I have tried to make the characters' endings make sense, in truth. The characters will meet different endings, in that they will be same, same, but different. I will ruin no character arcs! (I hope)
> 
> My dragons are less OP than in the series - seriously, dragonfire cAnNoT break buildings like that, wtf? They will also not be able to die from one puny scorpion bolt to the neck.
> 
> There are some elements in here that are not in the series at all... I'm not sure how those will be recieved by readers, so we'll see!
> 
> Again thank you, I hope you will find this more logical and more entertaining (in the good, not the lol wtf is going on? sort of way!) than the actual show.
> 
> Happy reading!

**JAIME**

The Red Keep stood tall and proud on Aegon's Hill, high enough to be seen even from the other side of the city and beyond the city wall. Jaime Lannister was on the other side, this time. He wondered if his father had stood as he did now, contemplating the city before he went in through the open gates and sacked it. He didn't want to be on the invading side, not if it meant that the city would suffer as it had the last time. _I'm not my father_ , he told himself, _and the city has suffered too much of Cersei's tyranny_. She had never cared for them, never thought of them as anything but a problem to be dealt with or a powerful ally. Yet they were people, and Jaime was sure there were many a person in the city not so different from the Queen herself, though she would deny it.

He sighed. Either way it was far too late to go back now.

He felt the approach of Brienne's hulking form. She'd been silent since they left the North. She hadn't wanted to leave Sansa, but the girl commanded it of her. The best way she could protect her, Sansa said, was to be a part of this war and protect her and her family's position in the North. So that's what Brienne would do. Lady Sansa's enemies were not in the North anymore, after all.

"The city will suffer," he said, uncertain of what his face betrayed and not wanting her to assume the wrong thing as she found him staring at the Red Keep that held his sister, and in such a contemplative mood.

"Not if everything goes according to plan."

"The smallfolk always suffer." She had nothing to say of that, she knew it better than most.

The days for parley were at an end now, the only word they had sent to the Queen requested her complete surrender and the opening of her gates by sunrise. Should she fail to do so they would take the city by force and could promise nothing in regards to her own personal safety. Jaime had helped them write the appeal, though his name had intentionally been left out. He was under no illusion as to what she would think should the appeal come from him - it would not sway her, only anger her. They were inclined to think otherwise, but he knew his sister, whatever they might think.

"Do you think it would be wiser to wait out the winter?" She asked, though that too was too late now. The snow had already reached the south and covered everything in a thin layer that soon became mud beneath the feet and hooves and wheels of their army.

"Better it be over quickly. There will be no siege, no one will starve. And either way it might be a blessing, so long as the food stores aren't burnt," he said with a wry smile. "Less mouths to feed." She didn't like it when he spoke that way, but there was a certain logic to it, perhaps even mercy. Better a quick death than a slow one, Jaime had always thought.

She sighed and went around to his other side to clasp his gloved hand in hers as they stood on their small hill and looked toward the sunset. They could be openly affectionate now, a feeling so bizarre to Jaime that it still made him feel watched and suspicious and warm. They hadn't married, yet they told everyone that they had. There hadn't been enough time in Winterfell, they hadn't talked about it... and he thought perhaps she was afraid that he didn't want to. Too afraid to bring up the subject by herself. And either way, once they'd told everyone that they had married, they could hardly have another ceremony. Jaime was glad of it, glad of the small touches. Glad that, should she be with child, no one would know it was a bastard and they could raise it as their heir, if they lived that long.

"I've never been afraid before a battle before – not one against humans anyway," he admitted as the sun's last rays glinted off the sea in the distance. "Yet now I find that I fear for you. Stupid, stubborn wench that you are. Probably too stubborn to die as well. It's my only consolation." She chuckled. She didn't doubt his affection for her anymore. Weeks by her side, and Pod's, had slowly ground away her nagging fears; the taunts he sent her way were affectionate, and she noticed. It felt good to fall back to that old rhythm of theirs, to be reminded of easier days, although they had detested each other at first.

"I fear for you too. You promise me you will not charge the wall on your own, armed only with a lance?" He didn't know how she'd heard the story or from whom (Tyrion perhaps, the sly bastard), but he didn't mind when it made her laugh gleefully. She had also called him stupid, swatted his head, and clasped him to her as if afraid even then that the dragon could stoop down and eat him.

It grew instantly colder when the sun disappeared, and they returned to their shared tent to spend the final night before the battle resting in each other's arms.

They ate quickly before undressing and making for the bed. He had her then, and she had him, sat atop him with her filthy hair all in disarray and falling into her eyes. He'd always loved her eyes, but he'd never imagined they could be so _passionate_ , at least not if she wasn't fighting someone, but every time they slept together her eyes glowed with a passion so intense he could hardly breathe, unable to look away. He'd clasped her hips and begged with his eyes, begged her, begged her until she tightened and moaned and held his eyes, and finally he could spill inside her.

They slept, after, but he disentangled himself from her before dawn. He dressed warmly and with a layer of boiled leather as his only protection. He kept Widow's Wail at his right hip, the twin to her Oathkeeper, and the weight didn't feel so strange anymore.

He hadn't meant to go. When he'd watched the sun sink into the ocean behind the Red Keep he'd been fully prepared to lead the attack on the Lion Gate, Brienne commanding the right flank, taking this victory with her. But what kind of victory was it if Cersei lived? If Brienne would always wonder, deep down, whether he was truly entirely hers? He couldn't remember reached the conclusion to go, but it felt necessary, like cutting away the corruption of rotting skin or severing the last tie to who he was, in order to become the man he wanted to be, so he left anyway, leaving behind the last piece of who he used to be.


	2. Daenerys

**DAENERYS**

Despite the winter winds her fleet had reached Dragonstone without loss of ship. Some sailors had fallen from the masts and one unlucky soldier had fallen into the sea when the ship rolled on a large wave because he'd been shitting over the rail; the only deaths had all been born of accidents, and there had been few.

They had seen ships on the horizon as they rounded Cracklaw point, and Dany had feared that the Pirate Euron Greyjoy had decided to bring the battle to them, but their scouts reported that it was only a few ships, not a fraction of the number the enemy would need to make battle, and on top of that they looked more like precautious merchantmen than war galleys.

Dragonstone was as it had been – for hundreds of years she imagined – a large rock in the sea, growing larger and larger as they closed, until it was looming over them, the castle and all its terrible gargoyles looking down upon them. Was it with pride or shame? Was it with hope or pity? This had been her family's seat for long before Aegon's Conquest, she hoped to make it anew what it had been. Perhaps one day she could seat her heir on Dragonstone. Perhaps... but she dared not hope, not yet, although the feeling snuck upon her at every strange hour, made her think of Jon, of her future and the future of her Kingdom.

All those thoughts had to be put from her mind now. Lord Davos had waited only a night before leading several small vessels to scout the surrounding seas more thoroughly than he had already. He was planning to go as far as the Blackwater Bay, creeping along the coast to get a look at Euron Greyjoy's armada.

They had all returned – save for that last one, the one he was captaining himself – and one had even managed to overrun and seize a fat merchantman in the night. It had been making for King's Landing with food and wine.

Otherwise the sea was almost swept clean save for fishing boats hugging the shores desperately. Their scouts let them be, as she'd ordered. They might be scouts and informers, Dany knew, but she would not condone the harassment of innocents, not when it was the thing she was fighting. Not when she was the Breaker of Chains, not when she promised the end of tyranny. The smallfolk had to _choose_ her before Cersei Lannister, and when they did she would have already won the war.

"The army will arrive at the gates of King's Landing in three days, no more," Daenerys said, as her council members came to rest around her. Every other day she'd taken Drogon to meet with their army on the King's Road to see how far they had advanced, and to offer some means of communication between the two fractions of her force. She had slept little because of it, but that was a small sacrifice for the information it granted them.

"And they insist on making the offer?" Tyrion asked. Dany nodded. "She will never open the gates, Your Grace." Dany knew that.

"We must leave tomorrow," Dany said, "and Lord Davos has not returned. He swore that he would." She was growing impatient; she wanted him here for the preparations before they left Dragonstone, and they had been expecting his return for two days.

"Your Grace, Lord Davos returned less than an hour ago. I'm sure he will present himself shortly," Lord Varys said in his soft, even tones. Dany smiled thinly. They needed Lord Davos to lead the attack, though he was, as always, so humble in the face of justified praise. Surely there were someone more competent to lead the attack. "None with your expertise, Lord Davos. I heard you grew up in King's Landing and captained a ship of your own when Lord Stannis was defeated on the Blackwater," Dany had said.

"Defeated, Your Grace," he'd replied.

"Only because my father took you in the rear, you almost had us," Tyrion admitted. They had managed to sway him, yet he had insisted on scouting Blackwater Bay himself, despite the risks, despite her own opinion. She had asked him to stay, yet he would trust no other to take his place.

Now he stood before her, smelling of salt and sweat from across the room. He looked haggard and sombre and his hand twitched at his side.

"Your Grace, Blackwater Bay is a forest of masts." She knew that they would be greatly outnumbered, she knew that she was asking good men to sail into the arms of the Kraken and slay the beast, and that her fleet on its own would have no hope to survive against the enemy's much larger one; they had discussed it all at length.

The question of the dragons had made the most heated parts of every discussion. If Jon would only ride Rhaegal he could fight in the city and Dany could fight on the sea, but Jon said that he needed to be on the ground with his men. He hadn't fully mastered the art of fighting from the back of a dragon either, and Rhaegal had been very reluctant to part with Dany even for minutes, despite – or perhaps because of – Jon on his back.

Therefore, her dragons would have to be used together, and everyone agreed that the fleet would need them the most. Someone had suggested they don't meet Euron on the water at all, but what would a victory be, if half the enemy forces were left alive and battle-ready? With Euron Greyjoy alive and undefeated, the victory in King's Landing would be a hollow thing.

"There will be battle in four days," Dany informed him. Lord Davos nodded gravely.

"We have no chance, Your Grace."

"Yes, we do. We have my dragons."

"Only two, Your Grace. The kraken has many arms. They have enough ships to fan out and surround us completely."

"Yara Greyjoy arrived with her fleet yesterday; they should be lying at anchor just beyond Sharp Point, ready to join their force to ours. She seems confident that her uncle's crews are cowards and slaves, that they'll turn on him at the sight of my dragons and heed the offer she will make them." The others seemed sceptical, yet Dany trusted the woman, perhaps despite her own better judgement. Lord Davos thought gravelly on the situation for a while, probably weighing their odds, imagining his own men against the Greyjoy's in battle, thinking of the dragons and Yara's confidence. At last he gave in and condoned the battle – more, perhaps, because he knew that Dany would never relent – not now on the eve of her great victory – than believing that victory possible, but he did condone it, and shoulders around the room relaxed.

"As you say, Your Grace." The discussions went on for a while longer. Lord Davos' new findings let them finalise their plans, and he had several suggestions for Dany as well, how to effectively use her fire against the ships despite the enemy's efforts to protect them. He also spoke of the heavy weaponry on the great war galleys, weapons the like of which he'd never seen before. Ships made for massive scorpions alone, ships with great catapults vaulted unto them, though he couldn't understand how they could be used without first taking down the masts.

Lord Davos sent a trusted man to oversee the preparations for their departure on the morrow, and then the discussions lasted long into the night.

*

It was still dark when her maid roused her three days later. The world was black and silent, the only sounds the rush of the sea against the hull of the ship and the groaning wood all around them. Her maid lighted all the candles in the room and her young squire, a girl of an age with the late Lady Mormont, was bustling around the room looking for her things. She wasn't a quick-witted girl, but she was sweet and eager to please.

Dany wanted to go back to sleep, to wake up with the sun and spend the day in leisure, happy and safe in her own kingdom, having rid herself of her enemies and made peace with those who bent the knee. But it would be years before she could have true rest and true leisure, and the hot sun and sweet, fruity wines she was dreaming of were things of summer, and the cold winds were rising still, even as she lay dreaming.

She rose at last and dressed in a woollen tunic and breeches, then a quilted doublet to wear beneath her armour. Her leather boots were warm and comfortable, and her squire helped her lace them almost to the knee, then she began the process of armouring her, as her maid came with breakfast on a tray.

She'd only worn her armour once before, during the battle against the dead. She was unaccustomed to its weight, yet from what she could understand it was much lighter than a knight's armour. She wouldn't need it to withstand great blows from war hammers and morningstars, only to protect her from arrows and thrown spears should she dive close to the ground.

It was not a pretty piece of armour; the steel was kept plain and grey, it didn't bear her sigil, it didn't have any ornamentations, and her helmet was not shaped like a dragon's head nor had it dragon wings, yet she loved it fiercely. It made her feel powerful, it made her think of the stories her brother told her when they were little, of Rhaenys and Visenya as they conquered the Seven Kingdoms with their brother from the backs of their dragons, armed, armoured, unstoppable. She would be that too. She was a Targaryen and she would make her family proud.

At last the maid braided her hair in one simple braid that reached the small of her back. She would have liked to have bells in it, in the proper Dothraki fashion, but they had no bells here, not for that purpose. Then she took her helmet and left her modest cabin.

Tyrion and a yawning Missandei joined her on deck as she called for her dragons. She embraced Missandei fiercely, and asked her to keep safe. The girl was shivering, either from the cold wind or the prospect of the morrow. Dany tried to tell her that everything would be alright, but the words would not come, so she kissed her brow and let her go. Tyrion reminded her of what they had discussed, then stood and watched as she jumped from the ship's gunwale unto Drogon's neck. Her heart beat fiercely in her chest until she was seated safely on his back; what a stupid ending her conquest would have had if she'd fallen into the water and drowned then.

She didn't, however, and was soon high into the air, flying her dragons – her children – to war once more. _They are stronger than men_ , she told herself, n _othing can hurt them, not even those terrible scorpions._

*

When she arrived at the place she had scouted for herself, a spot along the northern coast of Blackwater Bay, separated from her fleet and having hopefully (though she was doubtful) convinced Euron Greyjoy that she'd taken her dragons to the army outside the gates instead of using them to support her fleet, she made herself comfortable on Drogon's hot back to keep warm. It wasn't very cold, not like she'd heard the winters spoken of, but snow was dancing lightly in the air. There was a thin film of it on the ground, but it melted quickly near the dragons.

She dosed on and off, and she felt Drogon's rumbling breath even out as well until he seemed fast asleep. She woke once when the sky was the faintest shade lighter in the east, a deep purple that held the promise of dawn, then she dozed again. When she awoke the next time, the sky had turned pink on the eastern horizon and she didn't dare close her eyes again for fear of sleeping through the dawn.

She waited restlessly for the sun to rise, but he seemed reluctant today. _Perhaps he knows what will happen when he does rise, perhaps he, too, wishes he could prevent it._

But he did rise in the end, and Daenerys Stormborn roused her dragons, wanting nothing more than to heed their mewling wishes to return to sleep. But she remained stubborn, and soon they were airborne again, and going into battle.

What she found was Blackwater Bay filled with masts. Yara Greyjoy had joined her fleet to theirs and she herself had suggested splitting her forces to guard both the southern and northern flank; her ships were the fastest; this was where they were needed.

Daenerys could not help but feel a twinge of doubt when she saw how small her own fleet looked, even with Yara's ships, compared to Greyjoy's. Her fleet, further out in the Bay than their enemy, couldn't fill it from shore to shore as Greyjoy's seemed to do. It left them vulnerable to being surrounded, but they had planned for just such a thing.

Already Euron Greyjoy was charging at them, and he was dividing his fleet; the southern and northern flanks were moving to come around Yara's two fractions, just as Yara had expected him to. _He's both smart enough and arrogant enough to split his fleet in three_ , Yara said, and every other councillor had agreed. Good, Dany thought.

Finding Euron's own ship was not difficult. He sat in the middle of his own main force, likely wanting to be part of the action though not willing to risk his life, and his ship was a special one indeed, with sails that extended far past the width of the ship's waist. Its figurehead was a terrible kraken, tentacles reaching out across the waves. Dany wondered for a second why, with all those sails, he didn't outrun his line, but it was clear that his was a much heavier thing, the others made more for speed than force whereas his was made to withstand great traumas and make considerable damage when ramming.

Dany kept her distance and only watched for a while. Lord Davos held his line tightly, and didn't engage, just as they'd planned.

_When the time comes you have to separate them. Hit the flanks in the rear and cut off their retreat and any hope for communication. Make them fear you more than they fear him. Make them break their lines and fall into chaos._

Yara herself commanded the southern flank, so Dany concentrated on the northern one. Euron's ships were fast approaching hers, and at last her own moved to answer – quickly tearing free of the main bulk to meet the approaching enemy.

 _Now_.

Dany urged Drogon – and they fell. Fell with such speed she had to cling on with all her strength and press her entire body against Drogon's back not to be torn away by the wind. She barely dared look up for a glimpse, but saw that they were approaching the rear of Euron's northern flank.

"Dracarys!" she commanded and Drogon spewed fire on the poor straggling ships. Dany didn't hear the screams.

 _Divide them_ , she thought, _cut off their communication. Make them fear you._

She sailed just feet above the water, felt almost like she could touch it if she stretched out her arm, then Drogon tilted and in a second they were back amongst the ships. This time they were going slower. Dany sat up and could finally take charge. She directed Drogon's fire toward the rigging and the sails and the crews. The hulls and the decks would never catch fire, Lord Davos said; Euron would make sure that they were so completely soaked with water than they wouldn't burn.

_Without their rigging and their sails they'll be close to helpless._

She left fire in her wake now; once the rigging caught the sails soon followed. Dany's heart was beating faster, she felt her body tighten and her focus sharpen. The thrill of the battle was on her.

On their next swipe through the Greyjoy lines Drogon flew so close that a yard caught and snapped against his body. The dragon was unhurt, but for a moment all Dany could see was the massive piece of wood flying at her face. Then it passed above her head and she screamed triumphantly.

Another few turns amongst the rear of the flank, then she urged Drogon back up. While she'd been setting the ships on fire, the main vanguards had met in the middle of Blackwater Bay, and Yara had spread out – _too thin_ , Dany thought – to greet her uncle's captains. Dany felt the urge to hurry to her cause, but her work was not finished.

The rear of the northern vanguard was trying to retreat back to the main body of Euron's fleet. Dany descended upon them, more slowly than the last time. Now she was not going spread fire; she was going for blood.

Every man aboard those ships must die, so they would make a barricade between the parts of Euron's army. They swept past, Drogon first and Rhaegal behind, and breathed fire on the small men on the decks. Dany felt enormous, unstoppable, fierce and strong.

She left in her wake only ashes and dying men as she turned south and breathed fire amongst the ships all the way to where Yara was slowly being surrounded. She'd managed to pull away from the main body of Dany's fleet and was set apart from all other action than the one immediately around her relatively small escort. Instead of diving between the enemy, Dany took her dragons and circled overhead, ceasing the fire just before reaching them; a sign of good will.

Round and round she circled as Yara seemed to negotiate – with signs or words Dany didn't know – and all the while the fleets were crashing in mortal combat directly north, fighting for their lives, risking their lives. And still Dany circled – and swooped down to let the enemy get a closer look at the size of her children. Their shadows darkened the decks of entire ships and their wings were as wide as the ships were long. How magnificent they were!

Then Yara gave her the sign. The dragons screamed – a welcome and a warning – then Dany led them away to where Lord Davos' line was breaking, more quickly than she could've imagined. And Euron himself had not even engaged in battle.

 _This is only the beginning_ , Dany thought, almost gleefully, as she swept between her own ships only to emerge amongst the enemies and watch them fling themselves to their decks as if they could hide from her fire and her judgement.

Soon the air smelled of smoke and screams drowned out the wind and the tearing, rippling sound of slowly breaking masts drowned out the screams and Dany's eyes stung with tears and smoke.

 _Chaos_ , she thought, and swept among the enemy ships indiscriminately, endlessly. Then scorpion bolts of an immense size began taking flight, tearing through ship's hulls like needles through fabric. _He doesn't care whether he hits his own or mine_ , Dany realised. She could stay here amongst the enemy vanguard, making Euron destroy his own ships and risking herself, or she could take a more defensive position, that would return the strain to her already breaking fleet. She didn't know what to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longer than the last one, I hope it was enjoyable!
> 
> Again, I don't think the dragons should be powerful enough to just wreck the ships like they did in the show, I hope this is a little more realistic.
> 
> Also, I apologize if this isn't very interesting or typically fanficky (it's so hard to judge if it's boring or not as it was I who wrote it and have read it 5 times already!) but I hope it was, and also that it remained canonically sound!
> 
> Thank you for reading! I'll be posting again tomorrow, so stay tuned ;)


	3. Jon

**JON**

The gates did not open with the dawn. Though he hadn’t expected them to, Jon had been watching, hoping – and had been disappointed. He was tired of seeing good men fight for him, bleed for him, die for him. He was tired of command, he was tired of responsibility. He was tired of this war and everything that came with it.

It didn’t take long before his generals and their entourage of advisors began filing into his tent. Jaime Lannister was to lead the charge on the Lion Gate together with Lady Brienne of Tarth, who had just arrived, and the upjumped sellsword, Lord Bronn of the Blackwater, who entered behind her. The woman looked stern and sullen as usual; Jon felt more concern at Lord Bronn’s frown and twisted mouth.

Lord Edmure Tully, who had joined his strength to theirs on their way south, was to take the Old Gate while Jon himself was to lead the attack on the Gate of the Gods. When the Targaryen banner was flying from the highest tower of the Red Keep he was to ride through the Gate of the Gods and the entire length of the city to meet Dany at the top of the steps before the Keep, then Join her as she claimed the Iron Throne at last. Jon didn’t know who had suggested the plan – he thought it might be Tyrion – but it was about sending a message. To Jon it seemed unnecessary and inefficient, but it was not his decision to make.

When Lord Edmure joined them in the tent with his advisors, only Jaime Lannister remained absent. Jon realised why he wasn’t there a moment before Lord Bronn spoke up.

"The cunt's gone."

"Gone?" Voices filled the room.

" _Gone_? What do you mean, _gone_?!"

"I mean – the bugger left in the night. Left his pretty golden hand and disappeared."

While everyone were exclaiming loudly at the admission, Jon was looking at Lady Brienne. Her face was set in stone, unmoving and hard. Had she expected it? Had she known it, deep down? Jon felt his body clench in rage when he saw the sadness in her eyes. There was no doubting where Ser Jaime he gone. He looked away quickly, feeling her pain and her desire to be alone, which was writ in those large, downcast eyes.

He couldn’t help but think of the conversation he'd had with Jaime Lannister not long ago, when Jon had gone to his tent filled with shame and embarrassment and confusion. He’d felt as if everyone was looking at him with disgust in their eyes.

Jaime Lannister had been in bed when Jon was let in, and Lady Brienne too. They'd lain so close, naked and talking in soft voices. He'd been loath to disturb them but Lady Brienne had reached for her tunic and was up before he could excuse himself. She'd dressed quickly and claimed she needed to see to their men. When she was about to leave Jaime Lannister had stood from the bed, naked as the day he was born, and gone to her. He'd kissed her deeply, despite Jon's presence – as if he simply did not care. Jon thought, before he realised that he should look away, that Jaime Lannister looked _content_ when he kissed her, as if he had found his place, as if he would do it every day as naturally as he ate and slept. Jon looked away, only to look again when their foreheads were pressed together, and Lannister smiled against his lady's lips so she'd notice. Then he let her go and closed the flap of the tent after her. Jon had been embarrassed, but happy too to see that such intimacy found place in the middle of a war.

"Wine?" Jon had nodded and sat on the cot when Jaime gestured to it. The man didn't bother dressing, only pulled part of the bedcloth across his lap when he sat. Jon drank deeply.

"I've always thought that you can't chose who you love," Jaime had said. Perhaps he'd expected the visit, perhaps he'd prepared for the conversation – Jon didn't know, but he was glad he didn't have to be the one to breach the subject. "It simply happens to you. Either you love someone, or you don't. You can't choose it, you can't command it or control it, it simply happens, and even if you hate that person, even if you're ashamed or angry, you can't stop loving them because you want to. The Faith condemns brothers and sisters together and it condemns men together with men – but... I knew Loras Tyrell. You must've heard of him?" Jon nodded. "He was Margery's brother and he helped secure the alliance between his family and Renly Baratheon by marrying him to his sister, but in truth it was _he_ who loved Renly. The Faith condemns men fucking men, but it was clear to anyone who knew him that Loras _loved_ Renly, he didn't just fuck him. What then? Shouldn’t love be celebrated? Loras slew two of his own Kingsguard brothers in his grief because his love for Renly was so fierce. _I know_ what men will do for the people they love, and I know what _mothers_ will do for their children. Perhaps those actions make us despicable, but perhaps it's simply how we are made, and we can't change that, no more than we can change who we love."

Jon sat silent for a while. It sounded so easy when he said it like that, and Jon wondered if Jaime Lannister had ever felt ashamed of anything. Perhaps he didn't know the feeling of shame at all. Jon envied that. Yet for all his fine words, Jon couldn't put aside the doubts and the fears that gnawed at him, and the voice that told him, always; _it is wrong. It is wrong, it is wrong, it is wrong_.

"I suppose," Jaime said at last, when he received no answer, "the question that remains is – do you love her?" For a moment he could only think of how absurd it was that he was having this conversation with this man, yet he was most likely the only person alive who would not judge him, not question him or try to influence him.

It took a while before Jon could answer the question, in truth he didn't know himself, hadn't thought about it in such simple terms before. Then, at last he said; "sometimes. I love her when she's good, when she's clever and kind and merciful. When she's happy, when she's with her dragons. When she doesn’t have to… perform."

"She's a queen," Jaime had huffed, "you can hardly expect her to be happy and merciful all the time." He sighed. "Many men expect their wives to be girls, when in truth they are women, with their own minds and wills and needs, completely independent from yours. Daenerys is a woman _and_ a queen, she has to be ruthless and fierce and strong. She has to make hard choices, like you have."

"And they killed me for it," Jon said mournfully. Jon had been betrayed by his own, by men he trusted and called brothers. He couldn't bear it if she met the same fate.

"If you love her, live to see that it doesn't happen to her, and live to put smiles on her face when you can. So long as it makes you happy too." Jon had nodded. They had been silent for a while before he dared ask the second question.

"Will you tell me about my father, Rhaegar?" he'd asked, and Jaime did.

Now, Jon felt cold. Should he have expected Jaime to return to his sister after such a conversation? Was it _because of_ that conversation, that he remembered how much he loved her? Or had he simply used Lady Brienne so foul to gain their trust to better gather information? Jaime Lannister knew everything about their plans and their strategies. He knew of Clegane and his men beneath the Red Keep, he knew where the dragons would be and their functions, yet it was far too late to change their plans now, and far too late to turn back. Jon righted himself, thinking quickly.

"Ser Brienne," he said, meeting her eyes, "you will take his place. We proceed as planned." There was little to discuss, all the plans were made, and they were growing short on time. Within two hours Lord Edmure and his men were riding east to their army and Lady Brienne was riding south to hers. Another half hour and they would begin the assault on the city walls.

Jon ordered his men to prepare and called for his squire to armour him. It was his first proper set of armour; Gendry Baratheon had seen to the making of it after the battle against the White Walkers and Jon’s true parentage had been revealed. It was complimenting the one they'd made for Dany, plain and useful, as he preferred it. He'd worn it ever since to get accustomed to the weight and the way it affected his fighting.

Even though he was shorter than most men he felt like a hulking beast while wearing it. He felt loud and clumsy and attracted too much attention. For the first time he wondered how other people seemed to feel so at home in their armour; Lady Brienne of Tarth looked more comfortable in her armour than anything else. Now all he could think was that he would stumble on his way through the Gate of the Gods, or fall from his horse when he tried to dismount.

"Commander Snow!" Jon was quickly pulled out of his own mind and looked up. "The Tullys have lit the beacon, My Lord!" They didn't quite know what to call him, and in truth he didn't know himself. Prince? Jon had never thought he'd be a Prince.

"Commander! The Lion's beacon is burning!" Another yelled from his other side. Jon looked to both sides and saw that it was true.

"Light the beacon!" He shouted. Someone, somewhere, would see those beacons and run around the walls of the city, unseen he hoped, skirt the mountain around the Red Keep and inform Clegane that they were ready.

"Form up!" Jon yelled, and people scrambled to their places.

The Golden Company was doing the same on the other side of the hill; forming up to defend city walls that weren't theirs, every one of them mounted and armed – like a disciplined Khalasar. But they were nothing like the horselords which would descend upon them soon enough. Jon could only hope that Lady Brienne's knights of the Vale were strong enough to hold their line until Dany arrived with her dragons.

Lord Edmure had the largest force, and Jon had the strongest, with Dothraki screamers, northerners, and Unsullied to protect them when they were ready to break down the gates. Lady Brienne had a relatively small iron fist; they'd counted on Jaime Lannister to make himself known and spread doubt among the Lannister soldiers. Now they only had his wife, and though she was strong in body and had a surprisingly keen tactical mind (more so than Ser Jaime, who'd always been too impatient and overconfident), she was not their rightful liege lord.

But Jon couldn't think about that now, not when a Lannister vanguard was already charging his and the Dothraki were cresting the hill with such speed Jon was amazed they could keep their saddles at all, and they were shooting arrows as they rode. He felt dizzy before the rush of battle fell on him and everything became clearer as all other concerns faded.

Lannister soldiers and the city guard alike were lining the walls and raining arrows on the Dothraki – fruitlessly it seemed – and the crashing vanguards alike. Scorpions were mounted there as well, and rocks and tar and small fires to set it all aflame should they have to defend the gate.

_We shall see who burns by nightfall_ , Jon thought as he looked over the battle from his view atop the hill. He saw the entire battlefield from there, watched as his northmen overwhelmed the Lannisters and the heavily-armed Golden Company withstood the first waves of the small remains of Dany’s Khalasar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the charge begins! They actually have to fight for this, you know - no OP dragonfire out here to save 'em.
> 
> Anyway... thank you for keeping up with this little story of mine, and please tell me what you think, the good, the bad (constructive criticism is always great), and the meh.
> 
> Also! Any scenes you _want_ to see in this, don't hesitate to tell me, I can still try to weave them in if I feel like it's definitely something we were robbed in the series (like convo between Jon/Jaime for example).
> 
> Aaaand a good day/night to you! :)


	4. Jaime

**JAIME**

It had taken him longer than he expected to get into the city. It was heavily guarded now, but he'd lived here for so many years he knew the city walls like he knew his palm. He'd hidden the wooden hand with a glove and pulled the hood of his cloak over his head, none of which would be unusual in this cold. Then he'd gone to the Red Keep.

The first soldier he'd revealed himself to had stuttered and stared, but had recognised him to his relief.

"W-w-w - my lord?"

"Take me to my sister." He heard the change in his own voice. He sounded arrogant and demanding, and even a bit bored. As if refusal to follow his order was an impossibility. It felt good.

"B-b-but."

"I said take me to my sister! I'm the Lord of Casterly Rock, are you a Lannister soldier or some stupid city guard? Take me to my sister!" They'd received odd stares along the way but no one seemed to want to argue.

They went up and up into the Keep, and Jaime was winded when they reached Cersei's council rooms. There was a Kingsguard on each side of the door standing silently in their black armour and ugly helmets. Jaime didn't acknowledge them.

"Cersei!" he called, and pressed between the guards to open the door. They threw him back and put their hands on their swords. Jaime stood back indignantly. "Cersei!" He called urgently, getting angry. He didn't have time for this.

It was Qyburn who opened the door and let him in. "It truly is your brother, Your Grace." The man said in astonishment. Jaime wanted to hit him in the face, though he wasn’t entirely sure why. It was Cersei he was here to see, not the old weasel she’d named her Hand.

Jaime pushed past him and found his sister standing by the large windows overlooking the city, dressed in a black gown and that cursed crown on her head. His stomach tightened painfully and emotions he’d rather ignore curled and twisted uncomfortably in his gut.

"Cercei," he breathed when he saw her. She hadn’t changed at all, yet she looked so cold and unwelcoming. Had she always looked like that when she was displeased with him? Had he simply not noticed or had his view of her changed so dramatically?

"Leave us," she told Qyburn, her voice ice. Bronn’s confession rang in Jaime’s head. Would she be happy to see him crawling back to her? Would she dismiss him, call him traitor? How did she see him now? Could she tell that he had changed, that he was not the person he used to be – the one she had loved and used?

"Your Grace -"

"I said leave us!" Qyburn left and closed the door behind him. Jaime went to her and fell into her arms, excitement and fear running in his blood like the thrill of battle.

"I came as quickly as I could," he told her. He held her tight, felt her thin, feeble form in his arms. She held him lightly, without force or conviction. How strange to be embraced by someone who didn’t have Brienne’s stature and strength of body. He pressed his face into her neck and breathed in the smell of her hair like he was wont to do. It wasn't sweet to him now, it didn't smell like _home_ anymore.

"You survived," she said, almost coldly. He pulled away a fraction.

"Yes. I came to you as soon as I could get away. Cersei - you have to surrender. Open your gates to them, you have no choice! They're too many, and the dragons will lay the entire city in ruins. There is no chance -"

"There is no choice!" She growled. “You left us. You left _me_. Why are you here now? Wasn’t that brutish bitch of yours enough for you?” She laughed when he stiffened and he pulled away, frowning. “You think I didn’t notice? You’ve always been so naïve, brother.”

“You think I’d fuck _Brienne_?” he spat, with as much venom as he could manage, anger rising in him. “I didn’t go north for her, I went north for _you_! For _our child_ , to protect you! I love no one, have never loved anyone but _you_!” Cersei scoffed at his words, turned her back on him. This was the real Cersei, this was his sister as everyone else saw her, as he’d refused to see her for years. She returned to the windows, drank her wine.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said. There was a pause before she continued, and Jaime thought he could hear the smirk in her voice. “I’ve accounted for the dragons.” She turned, indicated for him to join her. Below the courtyard was filled with people. It looked like the entire city had taken refuge behind the walls surrounding the Red Keep and Maegor’s Holdfast. They were so many it looked impossible to move in the terrible throng. “I gave them an offer; if the men of a fighting age agreed to join the fighting, their families could hide safely behind the walls. In the end we had to turn people away there were so many.”

"A human shield," he breathed.

"The Dragon Queen has one weakness. She's not willing to do cruel acts to get what she wants. She can't attack the Red Keep when _they're_ there." So, they didn't know about the secret passage at least; didn't expect an attack from the inside.

"And what of our brother? What of Tyrion? Do you think he would care about the innocents?"

"Tyrion?" She whirled away from her grand scheme and glared at him.

"Tyrion's riding the other dragon," he lied, and Cersei's triumphant expression flickered doubtfully.

"You're lying. A dwarf can't ride a dragon."

"He drew the saddle himself, Cersei, I saw him on that thing! He won’t hesitate, you have to surrender! Don’t you see what you’re doing?” His voice was growing louder, but he tried to temper his anger when he thought of the guards outside the door.

“The northern army is tired after the fight against the dead and the march south, they have no chance against the Golden Company and the city guard. And should they manage to break the gates they will never make it through the city.”

“They have two dragons!” His fists were clenching and unclenching even though he only had the one, a rage was boiling up inside him as his throat constricted in hopelessness. Cersei would never relent, couldn’t relent. She’d never learned to bend. No matter the outcome of the day he would lose. He always lost these days. His luck had run out in the Whispering Wood, and since then he had lost and _lost_. He couldn’t lose any more now. He wanted to live and be happy. “Please,” he begged. “You’re going to die if you don’t. You have no chance, think about the baby!” He was angry, he was miserable, he was wondering why her belly was as flat as it had ever been.

 _She must have lost it_.

When he realised, he knew that there was no way she would ever surrender. He saw that she saw the realisation in his eyes. He pulled her to him painfully, one arm around her waist and his hand around her neck.

"It's too late."

"No, it's not! Please, Cersei!"

"And what do you think the bitch will do when she sits her father's throne? Do you think she'll be merciful then? She'll feed us to her dragons, like her father would have done!”

"No, she'll let you go into exile, she'll let you go to Essos. Please, Cersei."

"No. Get Qyburn, we need to know what you know about their plans." She was about the raise her voice and call for him, when Jaime slid his hand from her neck to her throat.

"Please," he whispered. She looked at him, astonished, like she couldn't comprehend what he was doing until he squeezed harder and her eyes bulged from shock. "I'm sorry," he muttered, and, "please," again and again as he felt her fight and claw at his skin until he bled. His cheek was stinging, his face felt hot, Cersei twitched and her legs gave out beneath her and still she was gasping, mouth a black hole, an open wound, nails digging into his throat.

He lowered her to the floor, clenched his fingers, felt the stillness in her neck. He was dizzy, gasping, crying, shaking as he looked into her open, empty eyes. Staring at him like wildfire, innocent and terrible, bulging and bloodshot. _Why_? She asked him. _I’m your sister, you love me_.

Her face was wet with his tears and he was choking on his own sobs. Would he die here too, had they really been one? Had she been the reason for his survival all these years?

Then there was a rustling behind him and he whirled around in a panic. A young page stood inside the room, watching with round and terrified eyes. Before he could think Jaime was across the room and had fisted his hand in the boy's jerkin, pulling him almost from his feet.

The boy struggled – and then there was a cold kiss against Jaime's throat. He looked down in confusion, and back at the boy who now had the face of Arya Stark. Jaime dropped him in shock.

"What were you going to do, throw me out the window?" he - she - asked. Jaime was frozen, voice caught in his throat, unable to speak. "Come. We have to go before they realize what's happened." She walked over to Cersei and drew her dagger across her throat, then ran to a large closet and entered it. When he didn't follow, she peeked back out and called impatiently for him.

He had to remove his outer coat to squeeze through the small hole in the back of the closet. The Stark girl took it from him and threw it away before leading him into the deepest, darkest places of the Red Keep. Jaime, feeling faint as if his body was not his own, let her lead him by his wooden hand. It was too dark to see anything, and Arya Stark was as silent as a mouse. If he lost her, he would never be able to find his way out again. He followed obediently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohhh well, now we're really changing stuff! I'm sure I'm not the only one who think this is more like how that reunion should have gone...
> 
> I hope you're enjoying this! I promise more stuff that is also different from the show is coming, the next chapter will be a Dany chapter and well... just you wait!
> 
> Please tell me what you think, feedback is always appreciated :)
> 
> Have a nice day!


	5. Daenerys

**DAENERYS**

She let her dragons rest for a little while, gliding through the air like massive birds playing in the wind. Drogon had taken a scorpion bolt to the wing, and though he didn’t seem too hurt it was difficult to say from Dany’s position. Rhaegal’s shoulder seemed to be hurting him, though she didn’t know what had happened. The damage didn’t seem too grave, so they continued on. Dany herself was growing tired in body and mind, but she steeled herself to fight on. They needed her outside the city walls which was the only reason she’d left her fleet. She could have said that she was certain of victory – Lord Davos had signalled to her that she should leave – but she would have lied. She was almost certain, however, that should her fleet fail, at least they would bring Euron Greyjoy and his ironborn to a watery grave with them.

She reminded herself that the armies by the gates relied upon her part in the scheme to break the gates and seize the walls, so despite their reluctance, she urged Drogon for more speed.

She went first to the Lion Gate, as planned. _To celebrate their victory_ , she was hoping. Everyone but Jaime Lannister had seemed so certain that he'd manage to convince the Lannister soldiers to join them, now that they saw their rightful commander and Lord Paramount on the other side of the field. She hoped they were right, but his doubt had weakened her own hope, which was why she was not surprised when she found a field of corpses outside the Lion Gate. The battle was still raging, and Dany despaired for a moment when she saw the size of her own force, so small compared to the enemy. When she looked closer, she saw that they were _advancing_ on the field through sheer force and will and battle prowess. Dany almost thought she could make out Lady Brienne of Tarth, leading her knights in an avalanche of steel against the much larger enemy force. She felt giddy.

Dany didn't waste any more time watching. She brought her dragons down and brought fire to the city walls of King's Landing. The wind in her ears drowned out the screams of the dying. Before the enemy could gather themselves she swept down behind the wall and set fire to the soldiers in wait as well, as when she deemed it safe, she landed and let Drogon turn the gate itself into cinders. But arrows were raining down upon them and a scorpion bolt graced Drogon's back behind her.

It didn’t hurt him so much as it angered him, and he roared before crushing the entire scorpion in his claws. He grabbed some fleeing soldiers with the other before taking to the air and letting them fall to their deaths. She only swept through the enemy ranks once before she turned her dragons to the Gate of the Gods. Neither Jaime Lannister nor his wife would have need of her now, it was clear that their host was far superior to the enemy’s.

When she arrived at the Gate of the Gods she saw the Unsullied shieldwall already protecting the people ramming the gate. The Golden Company had retreated behind the wall, but Jon's army was still large and seemingly in good spirits. They seemed to hardly need her help, so she only breathed fire along the top of the wall as she passed, and watched as Rhaegal breathed fire into the streets before falling in behind Drogon again. A scorpion had managed to swivel around to her position, but Drogon saw and tilted out of the way. The bolt must've hit Rhaegal behind him, because he screamed in fury, but then they were past.

The Tully forces had managed to break the gates, it seemed, but had then been beaten back once the doors were down, and mounted sellswords had ridden through the soldiers of the Riverlands like an iron fist.

Lord Tully, Sansa's uncle, was sitting atop the hill on his horse, commanding the battle.

Daenerys swept down and breathed fire along the top of the wall before the defenders had time to turn their scorpions against her. The rain of arrows eased for the soldiers on the ground but in an instant the remaining archers had turned on her as one. She wrenched Drogon away so he took the majority of the arrows on the scales of his belly without feeling them at all, yet she felt some whizz past her anyway. Too close.

She turned to the battlefield instead, swooping down to let the Tully soldiers know to run away as they'd been told, then she landed on the ground, breathed fire around the muddy field and felt, if not saw, Drogon swipe at the sellswords with his powerful tail.

She felt keenly the fact that Rhaegal was riderless now, as he only did what Drogon did, and she was sure he'd burned Tully soldiers and sellswords alike. Her heart clenched but she couldn't do anything about that now. They needed Jon on the ground. He'd wanted to be in the air with her, but he was too valuable, if not for his experience, then for the love his men bore him. He must be seen among them on the battlefield.

The sellswords she'd landed amongst were dead or dying, so she pulled Drogon into the air again, though he shrieked before he took to his wings. Then a scorpion bolt hit him between the body and the wing, and he screamed angrily, leaping toward the wall without waiting for her order. His large claws gripped the wall and he dove with his long neck and clenched his jaw around an unlucky soldier, throwing him away like he was a rag doll. The men on the wall broke, fled, tripping over each other and falling over the battlements and into the street beyond to get away from her.

He breathed flame again, left and right, and Dany felt almost too hot in her armour. Then she saw the men inside the houses along the wall. The rooms were full of soldiers, reinforcements, ready to take the places of the fallen. She brought Drogon around, but then there was another shriek, shriller, pained.

A net had been thrown over Rhaegal's head as he sat by Drogon on the wall and Dany could see several scorpion bolts embedded in his scales. They shouldn't be enough to pain him, but he couldn't seem to break loose and attached to the bolts were thick ropes.

In a blink every rooftop within sight was filled with archers, soldiers, men with nets and long, sharp poles with hooks at the end.

"Up!" Dany screamed in desperation and Drogon took to his wings. Rhaegal did the same, but the roped bolts yanked him down. He breathed fire and was free of the net around his head, but then more bolts flew through the air with ropes and nets that pulled him down. In her desperation she made Drogon set them all on fire, every rooftop and every person in the street - wherever his head went men burned, but it was not enough! Rhaegal was fighting the ropes and flapping his wings but a rope had been twisted around his right one and he couldn't fly properly or widen it enough to get free of it.

Smoke and fire spilling from his mouth in turns, he crashed into the building below him and Dany followed on Drogon, burning everything that moved, burning the ropes and the nets, but still there were more. _Where do they come from?_ Dany wondered, feeling for the first time true fear. They were so many! Swarming like ants everywhere she turned her head.

In desperation she made Drogon sweep down beneath his brother to bite and claw at the ropes and set them aflame, and finally, finally Rhaegal was free. Up they went, up and up but Rhaegal's wing was twisted and the other hadn't healed well since the fight against the Walkers so he lost height, twisted in the air, sending out bursts of flame in his frustration and Dany could only watch as he crashed into another building and made it crumble entirely.

She had thought for nothing else. She couldn't care how the battle against the city wall was progressing, she only had eyes for Rhaegal and the men that swarmed these new roofs as well and didn't hesitate to throw and shoot their bolts into her son's body. Rhaegal found his legs on the street and screamed for help, and Dany did what she could but wherever she set men aflame, new ones sprouted as if from the ground, and suddenly there they were too, surrounding Rhaegal on every side in the street with their cruel nets. Now chains were weighing him down too, chains which were being thrown from windows onto his back.

A chain had twisted around his neck and he thrashed wildly to get free of it, swept the street behind him clear with his tail but ripped at his own throat with his claws until he was bleeding.

Dany aimed for the rooftops again, but the men there jumped! Jumped onto Rhaegal's back with saws and swords and battle axes.

"No!" She screamed as they begun sticking their spears at his throat from the ground and the ones atop him began hacking at the back of his neck.

Without command from her Drogon landed in the street before his brother and swept it clear. She was unable to think about her own exposed position, could only rejoice that Drogon was helping him, helping Rhaegal, poor Rhaegal!

But then a chain was thrown around Drogon's neck and her wits returned to her. She forced him back in the air and he rose with difficulty. The street was almost too narrow for his wings, but then they rose at last, and an arrow knocked against her head, startling her, making her head ring but not otherwise hurting her.

When she looked down on Rhaegal again he was thrashing, screaming that terrible scream that pierced one's soul and made the ears ring. Chains were crossed over his back like the strands of a spiderweb and kept him on the ground. However much he thrashed he couldn’t free himself, couldn’t fight them all. And he was growing weak, his fire was dying, his neck - his neck was partly severed, held at an odd angle – almost _dangling_ from the remains of his throat.

Blood coated the ground around him and turned the street into a river. Even from this distance she could see into his wound, could _see_ the black bone inside his neck. She wasn't aware what Drogon was doing, could only watch as her son breathed his revenge upon the small men who were still swarming around him like ants. There must've been hundreds, maybe thousands in all. The street was choked with bodies, some charred, some still burning.

"Stop them," she cried in High Valyrian, even as Rhaegal coughed smoke and blood and banged his own head against the buildings of the street. "Stop them, Drogon, make them stop! Kill them! Kill them all! Dracarys!" She couldn't think any more, couldn't reason. What were they _doing_? How could this have happened? Why wasn't Rheagal fighting anymore? She felt a hotness on her cheeks and an emptiness in her chest and was merely a passenger as Drogon swept through the streets, after the men. They were running now, fleeing every one of them as Rhaegal’s head was separated from his body. But Drogon was faster, stronger. He killed them even as they ran, dropped their weapons and tripped over each other. And all Dany could think about was Rhaegal, her sweet Rhaegal, how he’d perched on her shoulder as a child, and slept in her bed at night. Now he was gone too, just like Viserion. Drogon was everything she had left. She clung to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mean... if they wanted Dany to burn King's Landing FINE that's what she'll do. But not for no fucking reason!
> 
> What do you guys think of this version? More likely? I hope so... It was a bit difficult to write and I feel like I just repeat stuff... I'm sorry if that's the case, I did my best.
> 
> I also want to point out that Dany isn't willfully burning innocents here, she's kind of just a passenger on Drogon for the moment, though yeah - King's Landing is going down, the innocent and guilty alike, and she could theoretically have stopped it.
> 
> Thank you for your continued support, I hope you liked this! :)


	6. Arya

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is graphic.

**ARYA**

****

The chaos in the streets was a shocking thing after the eerie silence of the lonely, underground tunnels they had used to get out of the Red Keep. Jon hadn't wanted Arya to assassinate Queen Cersei when she'd offered, had talked of honour and justice. She was hoping he'd never know, and anyway it was Lannister who'd done it, poor Lannister who was still white-faced and wide-eyes. She wondered if he'd notice if she pinched him.

He was slowing her down but she couldn't leave him behind, despite the comment she'd thrown at him when he'd grabbed her earlier.

_Were you about to throw me out the window?_

If Brienne saw something in him that was worth her attention, Arya grudgingly admitted (though only to herself) that perhaps there was more to him than what met the eye. He certainly seemed a different person from the one she’d first seen at Winterfell all those years ago. Therefore, and because she admired Brienne, she would try to keep him alive if she could.

Arya had seen the people surrounding Meagor's and she'd almost thought the streets would be empty though that had been stupid. But where were they coming from, and why were they not hiding inside their houses?

It didn't matter. The moment they entered the street they were pulled along with a river of frightened people. It was run or be trampled, and Arya much preferred to run.

"Why aren't they in their houses?" Lannister panted beside her. She had no good answer for that but found it best not to look around for an explanation. She'd briefly caught sight of a woman's face, only to find part of her head all in boils from the fire. She'd thought of Clegane.

Then, from behind, the black dragon caught up with them and breathed fire into the street of screaming, terrified, unarmoured people. Arya barrelled into Lannister and managed to veer him off into a side street, though they weren't the only ones who'd thought of that, and the much narrower street soon became as lethal as the other one as people stumbled over casks and crates and each other and were trampled by those behind.

Out the street sprung into another, and this one was filled with men armed with crude clubs and spears and some even swords and saws and axes. They looked shocked as the throng reached them and raised their weapons in sheer panic to try and keep the people from running them over like a wave. They cut and hit and stabbed either and every way in the confusion, and who could say if who they killed were family or not? But soon they were trampled or joined the crowd which turned right – the same direction they'd come from, but the dragon had passed them now, and perhaps it wouldn't come back to where it had already been.

Arya was almost knocked off her feet by a large man, pushing through, but Lannister caught her and put her on her feet.

_You stumble, you die._

They ran mindlessly until Lannister began to falter, then she whisked him away from the street, hoping that they'd be safe for a while in the small alley. They were catching their breath as the bell in the Red Keep began to chime. Arya climbed to the roof of the house and saw the Targaryen banner flapping from the highest spire in the Keep. Clegane had made it; they'd seized the Red Keep.

But the Dragon Queen hadn't seemed to notice. From this vantage Arya could see the fire the people had been running from. Several buildings had collapsed to the north and the Queen was still circling, burning, sweeping over the city on her dark wings. _Why isn't she stopping?_

Then the Queen turned her dragon and headed straight for Arya.

Arya scrambled to the ground, trove Lannister by the arm, and ran back the way they’d come, against the terrorised mob. Arms and cudgels and boots hit her as she forced her way through the throng, but it was the only way, and she and Lannister looked out for each other.

They must've run through a quarter of the city, at least it felt that way, because now they were seeing soldiers, Lannister soldiers raving, bleeding, burned, desperate. The soldiers charged them without thought for anything but their own survival and Lannister drew his sword as Arya picked up a spear.

The soldiers were half crazed and wounded, but Lannister managed to keep them from hurting him and Arya as she poked them full of holes. Then they were free, not staying to fight but pushing through.

The smoke was growing thicker as they went, but they couldn't hear the dragon anymore. Turning right on the next street they soon found out what the people had been fleeing from. The first thing they saw was heavy smoke, and it obscured most of the view, but they could make out burning ruins, stone houses having crumbled completely to the ground. Then they noticed the bodies. There were _heaps_ of bodies, and blood enough to make a river of what little they could see of the street. Then, as a small gust of wind made a gap in the smoke for a moment, Arya saw it. She cried out in dismay, and heard Lannister’s shock beside her.

The green dragon’s body was blocking the rest of the street from their view, but before it lay bodies piled on top of bodies, still smoking, still burning, torn to pieces with arms and head and legs in every direction. The dragon’s head had been crudely severed from its body, the point on separation only a raw mangled chaos of meat and bone in sickening angles.

Spears were embedded far into the dragon’s ruined eyes and several thick ropes were coming out of its mouth almost as if the beast had tried to swallow them.

Men had climbed on dying men to get at the dragon’s neck with their weapons and made mountains of corpses taller than Arya. She gagged, tried to quell the feeling, then retched before her own feet. Tears were swimming in her eyes as she heaved, emptying her stomach. She heard faintly the sound of Jaime having the same reaction beside her.

He summoned himself before she did and patted her back soothingly. Then with more determination he grabbed her arm and made her stand up. She kept her head down as he led her down the street, _towards_ the dragon so they could pass beneath its torn and broken wing and appear in a street that was hopefully empty this close to the carnage.

They had to step on them from time to time, even climb over them – the _things_ she didn’t want to think about. Some were still whimpering.

Then they were through, on the other side which was not a much better sight, as the dragon’s tail had done what damage it could here too. Parts of the buildings had shattered from the impacts, others looked prone to crumble at any moment. They went on, out into another street, then Jaime coaxed her into a run again. Anything to get away from that place.

But Jaime brought them right back into the chaos and before they could retreat a Lannister soldier swung his battle-ax in a strike that would’ve taken his head off, hadn’t Arya had the presence of mind to meet the blow with her spear, which shattered, but delaying the blow just long enough for him to jerk away. After that they had no choice but to fight. Arya drew needle and Jaime drew his sword again, then they stood side by side, moving swiftly enough together to keep the attackers at bay as they edged away slowly, coordinated, toward the far end of the street, away from the decapitated dragon.

But more soldiers were approaching them, and they would have no chance against four or five.

They were lucky, this time, with the arrival of the remaining dragon, which screamed overhead. Everyone scattered, some even dropped their weapons in their haste. The very air around them grew hot and boiling, so Arya found her leg and she ran, and ran, and ran, seeing Jaime beside her, moving with a certain desperation that hadn’t been there earlier, a wild look in his eyes. _The terror is getting to him_ , she thought with dread.

The dragon turned away above them, but they didn't stop running for a while. She tried to make him turn, but he was too heavy to sway and too set on his goal to notice her. He was breathing harshly, running with a frantic passion that didn't let him stop until he stumbled and went to the ground in his confusion.

He looked up at her with glassy eyes. "That thing is going to kill us," he breathed, and rose with a grimace. He looked dizzy. _He really is getting old_ , Arya thought. "Tell her I love her, if you survive," he said.

"You're not going to die," Arya growled. "We're going to get out of this stupid city!" she screamed, and grabbed his arm, "and we're going to live," she pulled him along with her, "You're going to kiss Brienne," they started to run again, "and you're going to have lots of babies with her." He laughed desperately, painfully, but followed anyway.

Everywhere they turned now they met people, mobs or groups running in terror from invisible threats, Lannister soldiers and city guards roaming the streets and drawing their weapons on anyone and everyone, those armed citizens who were more dangerous than the rest of them combined, with no training and no orders they slashed and cut and hit and killed left and right without considering for a moment that there were no enemies here. When it was impossible to simply barrel through, they cut a way for themselves, but it was getting harder now. The poor young mothers and the harmless little children running past and crying and stumbling and dying, had made way for soldiers with blood that was still hot dripping from their weapons. They were organised in their retreat, and didn't let anyone go in the direction of the fighting, only a few streets over.

"Why is there still fighting?" Jaime called at the soldiers from a safe distance. "The Red Keep has fallen, the Queen is likely dead, why haven't you surrendered?" It made no sense.

"Does it look like the fighting is over?" the officer yelled back, with a look at the sky. "We're not fighting the Northmen, we're fighting fire and madness. Now stand back, go the other way – peacefully now! Go home, stay in your houses, you'll be safer there."

"We have to go around, he'll never let us through," Arya muttered.

"We don't have to leave the city, you heard him; the Northmen aren't fighting anymore. We've won." Just then, Drogon screamed again.

"I don't think she's noticed. I'm not going near that dragon again." Jaime couldn't argue with that, so they went on, pushed north and north. Entire houses were ablaze the further they came, and Arya reasoned the green dragon had still been alive when they crossed these parts.

There were citizens here but no soldiers anymore, and the dragon seemed to be circling further and further away through the city. Arya wondered if it was still burning innocents.

To their right a mighty crash brought them to a halt. The floors of a house seemed to have finally given in to the flames and crashed to the ground and out the windows, but they heard no screams. They were so distracted by the ruckus they didn't hear the group of Lannister soldiers and armed citizens alike before it was too late. In pairs the soldiers rounded the corner. There were six of them. Armed with swords, wearing chain mail and boiled leather and carrying shields. They would overpower them in seconds, without the ragged group of men who formed the rear.

"Run," Ser Jaime told her, face grave as he looked into her eyes and she noticed for the first time how brightly green they were. Almost like wildfire. He turned back to them without hearing what she had to say. The group lifted their weapons, looking at their northern garb. "Halt there!" Jaime called. "Put down your weapons, the Queen Cersei is dead and her colours have been struck. The fighting is over, you've lost."

He was edging away, and Arya did the same. Not quickly enough; he nudged her with his elbow.

They laughed. "Lay down our weapons as the Targaryen bitch murders our families and burns our homes to the ground? It’s blood for blood now, northern scum! You’ve shown you have no honour, why should we fight honourably if you don’t?”

"Oathbreaker, kingslayer, shit for honour... I’ve heard them all. After a while you get tired of people calling you names and presuming to know who you are before they've even spoken a word to you. What does anyone know about my reasons for killing Aerys? Yes, people call me an oathbreaker. That doesn't mean you have to be too. Killing your Liege Lord is also oathbreaking. I'm Jaime Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West, the General of the Lannister armies, and I order you to lay down your swords. Do that, and I'll forget your slip of tongue." Jaime fumbled with his right glove and showed them his wooden hand. "Run, little wolf," he muttered to Arya. She backed away more quickly, but kept her eyes on the soldiers. They hesitated, approaching more slowly.

"Any halfwit lacking his right hand claim to be Jaime Lannister these days. Last I heard the man was dead."

"Well, I'm not. Do as I say, and I'll see that you're rewarded once the battle is over. Tomorrow you'll all have knighthoods and enough golden dragons to leave this city with your families if you so choose."

"He's talking shit, Crewlin," one of the men growled. "Look at him, in his leathers and his dark hair, he's northerner through and through, and the little bitch as well. They're oathbreakers! Oathbreakers and usurpers and liars and murderers! Let's kill them!"

"Run," Jaime growled at Arya. "Please." Then he drew his sword. "Oathbreaker? Oathkeeper, I say!" There was a great rumbling below them and for a moment the ground shook. Jaime whipped around and Arya met his eyes across the distance. "Run!" He screamed, and did the same. Arya had barely turned around when the explosion of wildfire tore through the cobblestones and sent them flying. The house that had collapsed inside exploded in a bright green light and the blast threw Arya from her feet. A moment she almost felt like she was flying. Then she smacked into stone.

*

Someone slapped her face. When she came to she realised it was more to stop her hair from burning off entirely than to wake her. She looked up and saw green, green like wildfire. _Jaime Lannister_. He cursed in relief when he saw that she was awake.

"Can you stand?" Arya was dizzy, her face was throbbing, her head was throbbing, her leg felt wrong.

"I don't know." For a moment she thought he was going to stand up and carry her. Carry her out of the city and into safety, then she noticed his shifty eyes and the odd angle he held his body. A piece of wood was sticking out from his belly. "No!" she growled. Her throat tightened.

"The fire is spreading quickly, you have to leave." She was shaking her head, struggling to her knees.

"Brienne will kill me if I leave you here," she growled past the lump in her throat. Why was she crying? He was too.

"She'll kill me if you die because of me. Please..." he begged, "Arya – please." His voice was shaking, breath rattling wetly in his throat. “I made a vow to your mother.”

"You can't die!" Arya said stubbornly. "Not when it's almost over! We've _won_." She rolled him onto his back and he groaned. Blood was seeping from between his fingers. His right arm was scorched black. She wondered if he noticed at all, if he could feel anything in it after they cut his hand off.

"It's too late," he murmured. "You have to tell Brienne – tell her why I left." Arya wanted to hit him then, scream at him, beat him. He had left her without telling her where he was going?! Arya was shaking, but her feelings came out as sobs instead of punches. She grabbed his clothing and hoisted his upper body unto her lap, then began examining his wound although she was swaying with dizziness. "You can't save me, little wolf." She knew that. Stupid, stupid man!

He took a while dying, murmuring about Brienne and asking her to leave him in turns. Death seemed slow on him, like it was reluctant to take him. He was looking up at the sky, but Arya didn’t think he could see it. She brushed the dark grey hair from his forehead as he whimpered and his body tightened in pain. But then his rattling breathed slowed and stopped, his eye lids were left half way closed on their last flutter, and he lay still and dead in her lap. With wet cheeks and a lump in her throat, Arya Stark ran for her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I. Am. Sorry.
> 
> Fuck, this was painful, this was so painful to write.
> 
> Yes, I killed him off even though I didn't have to. Why, you ask? Well, I don't know but I feel like a fucking idiot now.
> 
> Anyway, thank you everyone for keeping with me, and I'm glad to see that game of thrones still invokes discussions on the show/books even in fic comment sections (laugh-face).
> 
> Tune in tomorrow for the next question! We're past halfway now guys :')


	7. Jon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is where I go into dangerous territory!
> 
> ... I hope you like this take, or at least think it a possibility.

**JON**

The moment the bell rang the word spread; the Targaryens had seized the Red Keep. Queen Cersei was dead. The day was lost. What remained of the Lannister soldiers and The Golden Company threw their arms in surrender at their feet. They had fought bravely, but Jon and his men had pushed them into the city and they had been breaking even before the bell sounded.

Jon's black stallion was brought back to him - he'd fallen at some point in the fighting - and he mounted, grimacing. Jon looked at one of his officers and ordered him to take care of the prisoners. "The rest of you, secure the city! No raping! No beating, no stealing, no killing, no breaking! But should anyone resist you, cut them down." He'd turned his horse to the east and ridden on with his small escort toward the Red Keep.

Still there was fighting in the streets that slowed their way, and Dany hadn't heard the bell yet; he could still hear Drogon's screaming and the fighting far off. _Come on,_ he thought to himself, _look up Dany_.

It made him look up too. The sky was beginning to darken, more a testament to the shortness of the days than the duration of the battle. He looked at the Red Keep too, where the Targaryen banner - his banner - was flapping far above. The red three-headed dragon on the field of black. _Fire and blood._ He shuddered. He'd seen too much of both lately.

Other bells joined the chiming from the Red Keep, yet he thought he could still hear the dragons. What was she doing? He was beginning to grow uneasy, and everywhere he looked there were fires now, most red but some green as well, the green of Queen Cercei’s wildfire. But why wasn't Dany stopping?! Burnt people, even women and children were cowering away from him and his entourage. He saw a young woman rocking a blackened bundle in her arms as she breathed soothing noises as if in a trance. Jon looked away, more struck by that sight than any during the day’s fighting.

They had managed to break through the gates not long after Dany passed over the wall. He'd expected more help from her, but when she didn't return, he'd ordered the assault to proceed. He'd lost more men than he'd wished, but he was sure Edmure Tully had more use of Dany's power than Jon did. It did not explain why she had taken off into the city. Who was she fighting? Jon could only hope that the people of King’s Landing remained safely in their homes. Drogon and Rhaegal were not Balerion the Black Dread, their fires couldn’t melt buildings. Yet.

As Dany remained absent with her purpose obscure to him, Jon grew angrier with her. She did not always confide all her plans to him and acted often wilfully. Now that they had arranged this show of power to enter the Throne Room of the Red Keep together, she needed to be there too. What was she doing?

As he neared the steps however, the feeling of _wrongness_ that had bothered him since before the banner was raised above the Red Keep, was beginning to truly take hold of him, making him uncomfortable. Had he forgotten something? What was it he didn't see? Why – he sighed in relief when he saw from his new vantage that Dany had finally turned his way, sailing peacefully above the city. But something was wrong, he couldn't quite make it out. Then -

_No,_ he thought, feeling cold and faint, _it's what you're_ not _seeing_. Where was Rhaegal?

Drogon landed before him and he slid from his saddle. Numb, ignoring everything but the twisted expression on Dany's face. She looked the picture of wrath as she slid from Drogon's back, yet she felt like a child in his arms.

Even through the steel they wore he could feel her shaking.

“They killed him,” she was muttering, “my poor, sweet Rhaegal, they killed him, pulled him from the air and cut his head off as I watched.” This wasn’t Queen Daenerys, this was a mother who had lost her child. Jon had never seen her so shaken, so overcome by her grief. “I want them dead, I want them all to burn, I want it all –” The rest of her sentence was lost in sobs and cried and Jon could only think of the first time he touched Drogon. All three dragons had been circling above them, later, and Jon had called them beasts. _“They’re not beasts to me”,_ Dany had said, _“no matter how big they get, or how terrifying to everyone else. They’re my children”_. Now only one was left to her. Jon couldn’t imagine the grief she must be experiencing. Jon could only hold her, didn’t know how to console her. How can you console a mother who’s lost her child? He wanted to cry himself, but the tears wouldn’t come, though he felt a thickness in his throat.

"It's yours," he said at last, voice thick with pain. "All you need to do is claim it." He could almost feel it as she pulled on her last strength and quelled her sobbing. Her eyes were red and her face as well, and Jon kissed her, took her helm from her limp fingers, and gestures for her to lead the way.

The Throne Room was filled with people. _My soldiers_ , Jon thought, wondering. How had they gotten there before him? They should be securing the streets; only his own escort and Sandor Clegane’s infiltrators should be here now. Then he saw Varys in the crowd, and an empty space beside him where he imagined Tyrion stood. These weren’t his soldiers, this was the crew of _The Revenge_ , which should have stayed far away from every battle to keep their most valued advisers safe. Why were they here now? How had they come so soon? They were expected a day after the rest of the fleet, yet here they were.

Jon didn’t let it distract him for long; their presence made for a more impressive view as they parted before Dany to let her through. They were dwarfed by the size of the room and the dragon which entered behind Jon, following his mother obediently, as if he didn’t want to part from her.

Jon walked a step behind her all the way to the Iron Throne, then went to stand by her right side. He watched as she approached, slowly, reaching out tentatively. He met her eyes and she _smiled_. She turned and sat, clad in her steel armour and long silver braid over her shoulder, the picture of Targaryen beauty and authority. The crowd made way as Drogon followed and went behind the throne, head resting on his claws not far from Jon and tail extended along the wall on the other side of the hall. Then Missandei emerged from the crowd and stood on Dany's left side before the steps.

"You stand in the presences of Queen Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, the Unburnt, Queen of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Breaker of Chains and Mother of Dragons." As one the people in the room knelt to show their allegiance to their Queen. All except Bran, whom Jon noticed first now, sitting close on the left side of the room by one of the massive pillars. Of course he would be there, he'd been on the ship with Tyrion.

Dany opened her mouth to speak before being interrupted by the front row of soldiers as they rose and approached the throne. Someone else stood in the middle of the hall. It was Varys.

"Queen Daenerys, you are charged with the brutal and unjustified murder of the innocents of King's Landing, the execution of Randyll Tarly and his youngest son. You stand before us as a usurper, with the rightful heir to the throne by your side, Jon Targaryen, son of Rhaegar Targaryen, who you have manipulated and seduced into giving up his claim. Seize her." Jon was too surprised to react as the soldiers moved up the steps carefully but swiftly. They pulled Dany from the throne before Jon had found his voice.

"What is the meaning of this?"

Dany threw out a hand to quell Drogon, who had lifted his head and looked on the proceedings with keen, understanding eyes. "Release me," Dany commanded. For a split second the soldiers hesitated, then continued and made her trip. They didn't let her fall. "I said release me!" she tried to wrench free, but they didn't release their hold. "I am your Queen! Drogon –" One of the soldiers hit her in the face. He hadn't so much as pulled his arm back before he was dead, impaled on Drogon's large, black teeth. Jon spurred into motion then, drew Longclaw and approached the group of soldiers warningly.

“Release her!” His voice rang through the hall and the soldiers seemed to look from Jon to Varys. He had called Jon the rightful heir to the iron throne, after all. “Do as your Queen commands, and let her go,” Jon ordered. “We might forget this foolishness and let you live.” He didn’t quite register that he himself was being slowly surrounded, too.

Varys made a noise – and then they were dragging her off again. She was trying to be heard, but someone had clamped a hand over her mouth. She turned, and her desperate eyes met his.

“No!” he roared, and charged that the men holding her. Her eyes… he thought he’d never seen true fear in someone’s eyes before now. Had she, for a moment as she sat the throne, thought that everything was over? That the fighting was done and she was safe? “Let her go!” Jon tried, tried to reach her, but he was being restrained, even as he heard swords being drawn around the hall. Were they fighting amongst themselves?

Dany seemed to be screaming and Drogon seemed restless, at a loss for what to do. He couldn’t help her in fear of hurting her, but they were pulling her away and she didn’t stand a chance against their strength.

Jon roared as his sword was wrenched from his hand, feeling helpless and confused.

"Stop this!" Tyrion's voice rang through the room, _too late_. The doors were already closing behind Dany and Jon was still fighting the people holding him, still fighting… but who? Who were doing this, why? What would they do with her, where were they taking her? _Why_ had Varys moved against her? "We will sort this peacefully,” Tyrion was saying, “the time of bloodshed is passed, now we will talk! Release the King!" The soldiers around Jon stepped back immediately, and Jon gave up his struggle. He looked around in confusion for a moment, assessing the situation before…

"You did this," he breathed, only realising it as the words formed in his mouth and he looked at Tyrion. "You traitor! We trusted you! We _trusted_ you!" He kept saying those words, didn’t realise that he’d started moving again, charging the little man, but hands grappled with him and yanked him back. "We trusted you! Release her, she is your Queen! Release her, or you'll burn, you’ll all -"

"Dracarys." The room fell silent instantly. Missaindei's word cleaved through the noise and Jon met her eyes. He could see the same conclusion he'd reached in her eyes which were steady on Tyrion. Dragon lifted his head and bared his fangs. Fire began to form in the back of his throat - and faded. The dragon coughed, snarled and sprouted smoke. Then he slammed his tale on the ground and began to claw at his own throat as he screamed. His eyes flashed white for a second and he wailed in agony, battered a pillar with his tail so the ground shook, and crashed into the throne though he didn't seem to notice the swords he'd impaled himself on.

Then the fire rumbled in his throat again, though it looked like he was fighting himself, warring with himself – and winning as the fire took shape and grew within him. And at the last moment he turned around toward the wall and the throne instead of the room, but he was raging, raving, thrashing madly even as the throne _melted_ before their eyes.

Then Drogon wrenched around and the left foremost part of the onlookers were engulfed in flames, people screamed, the smell of burnt meat filled the air and the Dragon began beating the far wall, threw himself at it, breathed fire at it until it crumbled like it was a simple pile of rocks pushed over by a child. Then the dragon spread his wings in the hall, showing all his terrible magnificence, and left them in the dust and the smoke and the ash of the Seven Kingdoms.

_Missandei_ , was all Jon could think. She wasn't where she'd been, but the throne she'd stood beside was no more and Jon could not find her.

He was screaming again, _traitors, cowards, liars_ , but he didn’t know where to turn or what to do.

"Take the King away," Tyrion commanded. They seized him and Jon fought, but could not keep them off. He was screaming at Tyrion and Varys and everyone else in the room, though he wasn't sure if his screams had words or not.

*

It was hours later, when the world had gone dark and Jon's fury had cooled, that Tyrion came to him.

"We will right this mess," he said as a welcome. Jon ignored him. " _You_ have to do it, Jon. These are your people, they love you."

"They're her people," he groused in his broken voice. Tyrion hesitated.

"An hour. And hour she spent only terrorizing the city. The people of King's Landing don't see a liberator, they see another tyrant. She was burning everything, and no one could stop her. What kind of power do we have against a dragon? The people will always fear her. These kingdoms have seen too much fear. It is time for love."

"They cut Rhaegal's head off while she watched. She was mad with grief!" Nothing made sense. Why were they there at all, Tyrion and Varys and Missandei and all the rest? They must have planned it – Varys and Tyrion. Bran as well? Perhaps he'd _known_. Jon felt cold.

"She was killing innocents. Flea Bottom doesn't exist anymore, neither do most of the orphan children who used to live there. Jon, we need you, now more than ever. A just king, one such as the realm hasn't seen -"

"And who will you be, my loyal Hand? Who plots with Varys when it suits him? How long have you planned to bring her down? From the very start? Why?"

"I haven't plotted with -" Jon laughed but it was a mirthless thing.

"Sansa always said you were so cunning. I should have listened to her."

"You're charged as a traitor too, complicit in Daenerys' plot to conquer the Seven Kingdoms one by one once you hold the throne itself to reaffirm your power. Take as your ancestors did with fire and blood and start the second Targaryen dynasty, executing your enemies by fire and enslaving the people." Jon almost balked at the audacity they had to charge them with these things.

"It's not true."

"It doesn't matter. The people are already saying it and calling for your heads. You're the only one who can salvage this, Jon."

"How? By usurping my Queen's Throne?" Jon shook his head. "Leave me. I will not right your mess for you." Tyrion left, and Jon remained in darkness.

*

They kept him locked in the small room. No one came to him and he couldn’t leave. The only time he saw anyone was when they gave him food. For days he listened to the people of King’s Landing rage outside the castle. He hoped it was as Tyrion and Varys and the divide they must’ve caused in their own people, but like as not it was the people calling for his and Daenerys’ heads.

They’d called him king – it was clear to him that Varys and Tyrion had originally wanted to put him on the throne, yet if that was their intention he couldn’t imagine why they would keep him here without visiting him and serving him their cold lies on silver platters. What was going on? He’d even told the guard that he was willing to speak with Tyrion, if it could right the situation, but Tyrion had never come, and the people of King’s Landing grew only louder, angrier. From his cell all Jon could do was listen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, SO.
> 
> Yeah I know, bold move! I'm actually kind of afraid of what kind of response this will get...
> 
> Just remember guys; Jon did not know of the horrors Dany was responsible for in the city, which was why he would still defend her and see her on the throne. And Tyrion... well, we don't know his motivations quite yet! I promise I'll not just leave this a loose thread!
> 
> Gosh but I am nervous... anyway thank you for reading, I hope this won't turn you away completely.


	8. Brienne

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're doing a bit of a time-skip backwards to right after the battle, even though I said in Jon's chapter that several days had passed.
> 
> It wasn't originally like this, but for some reason I came to the conclusion that that was the only way I could make this work without adding any chapters and jumbling them around, so please excuse me for that, and I hope you're not too confused!
> 
> Enjoy :)

**BRIENNE**

They hardly spoke. Not that they used to speak much at all; Pod had always been a silent boy, and Brienne had early learnt to keep her head down and her mouth shut. Now, however, the silence hung in the air like a shadow, and absence, a hole that had so recently been filled by a third person. He'd barely parted from them on the way south. He'd filled their customary silence with quips and droll jokes and endearments that made the others blush.

After the Lannisters and the Golden Company had surrendered when they heard the Queen was dead, Brienne had been charged with securing her part of the city, and so she had done. Their losses had been great, but not catastrophic.

After she'd secured her part of the city and delegated the remaining tasks to lesser officers, she'd led Pod back to their tent and they'd fallen into their usual rhythm of removing their armour - Pod had gotten his very own for the first time, Jaime had insisted upon it before they left Winterfell, and said he'd earned a Knighthood if he survived the battle of King's Landing. She could see how honoured that made the boy feel, and the feeling resonated within her. She had never felt happier than when Jaime knighted her.

Their tasks had become routine and neither thought about what they were doing, simply did. But it was not like it had been after the battle against the Others, when every part of their bodies had ached, when their bellies were cold with fear and their minds crazed with it. When they'd frantically struggled out of their armour as if it was choking them. There was no horror now, only the blood of men. What was that compared to an army of the dead?

Pod was quicker than her and had even managed to wash his hands and face and slip into a fresh tunic before she'd entirely removed her armour. He went to help her, still her dutiful squire, and she let her hands fall limp by her sides. When it was done, he handed her a rag and a fresh tunic and turned his back to bustle around the tent, warming a small pot of wine for them to share and putting some light food on a platter. When he deemed it safe, he looked back at her where she was sitting on the makeshift bed, clean clothes and face and hands, yet still beaten. A bruise was forming on the side of her face, but she didn't seem to notice.

"A cup of hot wine, Ser?" he asked, hushed. She nodded and he brought two, sat beside her on the furs. Their knees were touching but that was all. They weren't looking at each other but sipped their hot wine in silence.

"He killed Cersei." They startled and sprung from the bed to reach for their swords. When they looked around it was only Arya Stark, standing in the shadows of the tent. They eased back on the bed at the sight of her, and she approached.

"What do you mean?" Pod breathed.

"I mean, he put his hand around her pale little throat and squeezed the life from her. Stopped her breathing, stopped her heart." Her voice was raw and cold. "Then I slit her throat, just in case." Brienne's hands were shaking.

"Is he alive-" Arya shook her head and looked down. Brienne hadn’t noticed before then, but the girl was trembling slightly, and held her body at an odd angle.

"We went into the city to escape, but Daenerys was burning everything, and people were going mad. Some Lannister soldiers came upon us and he tried to convince them of who he was, and he asked me to run. He was going to fight them on his own to give me time. Idiot. But then the building beside us exploded with wildfire. I was far enough away to survive. I was lucky." She showed them her neck. The skin there looked like it had been boiled. She was limping badly. "He was right by the house when it happened." A small, pained sound slipped from Brienne's mouth. Arya shuffled awkwardly on her feet and looked at them. Her eyes were red-rimmed and still large, childlike in terror. "He told me to tell you that he loved you... if he... if he should die." Arya grimaced, and it looked almost like she was blushing.

How Brienne could look so sad and so relieved at once, Pod couldn't understand. Until her hand went to her belly, caressing it. A wobbly, tentative smile reached her mouth, just as the first tears fell from her eyes. Arya mumbled something about getting her sword seen to by a blacksmith, as it had taken damage in the fighting, and slipped out as Pod brought his arm around Brienne's shoulders and brought her face into the crook of his neck.

"A-are you... are you with child?" Pod dared ask. She nodded, shaking. _She must've thought he'd used her, never truly loved her. She must've thought she carried his bastard, and that he'd have left them even if they both survived the war_. It broke Pod's heart. Anyone who had seen Jaime with her could not believe that. "He would've been happy," Pod whispered to her. "You know he would've married you truly, he loved you." Brienne nodded, and continued to cry. So Pod did too, he cried for Jaime Lannister, and Brienne, and the fatherless child she carried. "What shall we do now, my lady?" Pod asked after a while.

"I'll go back to Tarth, like Lady Sansa commanded. She was right, my father needs me, and Tarth must have an heir. And she needs allies more than she needs sworn swords now."

"I'd love to see Tarth, my lady. I've heard it's beautiful." Brienne frowned.

"You can go wherever you want now, Pod, you don't have to stay with me. I'll make you a knight before I go." Pod shook his head.

"No, my Lady, my place is with you. My family died in the war. You can knight me in the Sept on Tarth, we'll make it a proper ceremony." Brienne felt like someone had hit her in the head. Pod wanted to stay with her? Why? The confusion must've shown on her face. "O-only if you want to, of course, my lady. I can leave, I can –"

"No," she found herself saying. "No, I'd rather you come to Tarth, if that's what you truly want." He smiled at her, looking like a boy again, though he was a man now in truth. She felt almost happy, for a moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A brief respite from the madness! We do need some soft moments in-between all the drama.
> 
> Btw Arya is obviously going to Gendry, I hope that was made clear enough - she just had to step by Brienne and tell her The Most Important News first.
> 
> Honestly I just want a Brienne/Jaime child in the world, so here it is! Without Brienne's shame that it's a bastard and that Jaime used her, so that's good. Let's be honest, he would've been thrilled to be a father again, openly this time... :'(
> 
> Thank you for reading, stay tuned for more dramatic stuff in the next chapter!


	9. Jon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the delay with this chapter, I went on a spontaneous visit to my parents and didn't bring my computer!
> 
> Really sorry, here's the new chapter - enjoy!

**JON**

****

Tyrion came again, at last, looking drawn and defeated. He didn’t speak at once and Jon had no intention of being forthcoming.

“Tens of thousands,” he said at last, mournfully. Jon couldn’t decide whether he believed Tyrion’s sadness was real or a simple act. “Only a fraction of that number were soldiers, and the work isn’t done yet. She was chasing them on the black dragon, burning them even as they fled, women, children, the old, the crippled, the poor and the rich. From the Old Gate to Flee Bottom. And Cersei’s wildfire… You can only imagine the damage, the deaths.”

“Dany didn’t know about the wildfire,” Jon argued weakly while trying not to imagine what it must’ve been like in the streets as Dany swept down from above.

“Denounce her,” Tyrion pled. “Denounce her, give her the option of trial by combat. Should she be victorious, let her take her people to Dragonstone, let her stay there in exile, and rule the Seven Kingdoms as King Jon I Targaryen. It’s the only way you can save her.”

“The Seven Kingdoms are hers,” Jon argued. He didn’t want it, he didn’t want any of it. All he’d wanted was peace. All he wanted was to settle, have children, live in peace and harmony. Somewhere along the line he’d been swept along in the avalanche of Daenerys Targaryen and her rise to power and he hadn’t known when to stop. It felt like _destiny_ when Sam revealed Jon’s true parentage, and although the fact that Dany was his father’s sister had confused him and even sickened him a little, she made it feel _right_. Targaryens weren’t like other men, they had always married inside family, and after his conversation with Jaime Lannister, Jon was beginning to believe that they were meant to be together. Who better to reconcile the Seven Kingdoms after the rift caused by the Baratheons and the Lannisters? They would rule together, King and Queen equal in power.

“You have the stronger claim,” Tyrion reminded him.

“I have never claimed anything! This was _her_ conquest, not mine! She would claim the throne and we would marry, aye, but she was to be Queen! Then you took it all.”

“But someone must rule,” Tyrion insisted, “and she never will. The people of King’s Landing will never let her, and when the rest of the realm hears of her actions, they will never let her! Not when she’s lost the dragon; she doesn’t have the power to withstand them all. Jon, this is the only way.”

 _Think of what she did_ , Jon told himself. _Tens of thousands dead_ , it was too much to imagine. How could she have done such a thing? Tyrion was right, she might be able to hold the throne for a while, maybe even through the winter, but then they would come, everyone of them, and the Gods could only know where the dragon had gone. Something inside Jon twisted painfully. How could she have done it? Murdered so many? Jon tasted bile in his throat.

“Think about my offer, Jon. You might be the only person alive who can save the Seven Kingdoms from ruin.”

 _I have to_ , Jon thought to himself when Tyrion had left. It seemed like the only reasonable possibility, the only way to save the realm. But he thought of the days ahead and the thought terrified him. How could he rule Seven Kingdoms? For years they might have been placid and, offering little rebellion against the Targaryens, but not so any more, not after the war of the five kings. The Iron Islands had made their pact with Dany, not him. He would need to move against them immediately to insure they remained part of the realm. The Dornish would no doubt claim their independence and it was not unlikely that the rest of the realm would demand a move against the Lannisters for the wounds they had inflicted.

How could he manage all that madness? He didn’t want to, but wasn’t it his responsibility? He was the rightful heir to the Iron Throne, and Daenerys would be safe on Dragonstone, the ancient seat of her family.

Jon pondered the question long into the night, and perhaps he would have claimed the throne as Tyrion suggested, hadn’t a visitor come late into the hour of the wolf, knocking on his little window from without.

*

"I – I'm not supposed to be here," Sam said honestly when the door had closed behind him. Jon hadn't been able to keep track of the time, but it was the first time that door opened for anything but drink and food for a long while.

"You're never where you're supposed to be, Sam," Jon reminded him, smiling. "You're worse than anyone I know at doing what you're told." Sam's smile was gleeful, but he soon grew serious.

"They had to let me in. I I-told them, I was _King_ Tarly now, and they had to do as I said."

"You're _what_?!"

"I – I'm k-king of the Reach!" Jon only stared. "N-no one wanted the sellsword to be king, but he holds the seat of Highgarden, and he didn't really want it either, seeing as he knows what happens to kings... so, so I'm – I mean, the Tarlys are the... the kings of the Reach now. The Baratheon boy, the bastard, when Bran said you weren't to be King everyone were wondering who should be king instead, and he was there, but – no one really wanted to stay _in_ the Seven Kingdoms any more. Dorne has already torn free and the Greyjoy woman left immediately when... when they... well. Killed the Queen."

“What?” Jon breathed. Suddenly his head swam and his throat constricted. They had killed Dany, without letting him see her, without conferring with him? How could he not have known it, felt it when it happened? "Did she have a trial, at least?" he asked, choked. Sam shook his head. "How is that possible?"

"No one knew it was going to happen! They kept it a secret, but the people of King’s Landing were in such a state, I was so frightened and Gilly thought they would come and kill us all in our beds even though we were safely behind the moat in Maegor’s Holdfast! But then suddenly they marched her out and through the city to the dragonpit and… Jon, it was dreadful! I didn’t even know of it before hours later, but it was dreadful! And then her Khalasar swept through the city, and they almost managed to kill Tyrion, but the knights of the Vale managed to kill them all!

"Tyrion? Did he do it?"

"I don't know. I think it was the spider, Varys. It was he who accused her, on behalf of the people of the Seven Kingdoms, said that she was mad, just like her father, and after she burned the city, who could deny it? B-but... some of the tales aren't true. They say she burned Flee Bottom where only the poor orphan children were, but I don't think she was ever there, and..." Sam trailed off, looking bewildered and hurt and angry all at once. Arya had told him that part when she came to his window after Tyrion’s visit. _They’re lying_ , she’d said, _they orchestrated the worst of it_. Jon didn’t understand how that was possible, but Arya swore it was true.

"What else has happened?" Jon asked, and now he was truly crying. Tyrion had betrayed her. He and Varys. They'd schemed and plotted to put Jon on the Throne instead, but how could they have gone so far? How could _Tyrion_?

"Sansa is to be Queen in the North! Bran was supposed to be king, but he said he wouldn't. And Gendry Baratheon is the new Stormking. The Tullys are the Riverkings again, and Tyrion is King of the Westerlands. And they gave King's Landing to Lord Davos! He says he'll live in Maegor's Holdfast and tear the whole Red Keep down, but I don’t think he will because someone said it had better uses now that so many houses were destroyed. The Greyjoys have their Islands and Dorne their desert, and some sickly Arryn is to be king of the Vale! There are _eight_ kingdoms now, Jon! There haven't been eight kingdoms for... for half a millennia! Though... I do suppose we should say there are _six_ kingdoms and two queendoms."

"What of the Night's Watch?" Jon asked, not knowing what else to say. How could he have been stored away during such important discussions? Had they forgotten him entirely once Dany was dead? Why hadn’t Tyrion appealed to him again? Why had _Bran_ said that Jon wasn’t to be king?

"Oh, there is no Night's Watch anymore. They're allowed to go back to their homes or join the Free Folk as they please. I think the Free Folk will go beyond the wall where they belong, don't you think that's what they'll want to do?"

"I'm sure that's what they want, Sam." Jon sighed. "What's going to happen to me?" he asked, not even sure that with eight Kingdoms, anyone had the right to condemn him. _That's why they did it_ , he thought to himself. _That's why they killed her so quickly, without telling anyone. Once the kingdoms were broken up, they wouldn't have the power to do it, and they knew that I never would have let it happen if I was made king_.

"You're to be taken north, you brother Bran said so."

"Why was Bran there?" Jon asked at last, a bit more sharply than he intended.

"W-well… it was he who said... who named me king of the Reach." Jon's brows furrowed, but then he scolded himself for being too suspicious. Not everything was a scheme, he told himself. "Oh! And did you know, Ellaria Sand has been kept in a cell below the Red Keep for ages. Tyrion had her returned to Dorne as an apology for his sister's actions."

"And to lessen their hostility against Lannisters," Jon groused. Sam nodded, thinking.

"You're leaving tomorrow."

"So soon?!" Would he even be allowed to speak with anyone before they whisked him away?

"Bran said you need to leave quickly, before winter truly settles. You need to go by road, and you'll be in the company of the Tullys as far as Harrenhal. No one has had a day of rest since the battle, and –" Sam stopped abruptly, looking guilty. Since the battle, since Dany had taken the Throne, since she'd been betrayed by her most valued advisors. If he ever saw him again, Jon would kill Tyrion Lannister with his very own hands. She hadn't sat the throne long enough to warm the seat, that was the reign of Queen Daenerys of House Targaryen, First of Her Name. Jon had to think of something else, distract himself, distance himself. He was powerless now, there was nothing he could do, yet he wanted to claw his own heart from his chest if it meant Tyrion Lannister died with him.

"Will you marry Gilly?" Sam blushed.

"Yes. The Lords won't like it, but they'll like eating snow and shit through the winter less, I believe." Jon laughed, at his words, at his threat, at the emptiness of that threat. Not even Sam could convince himself he'd do such a thing.

Sam cried when he left him, sniffled and snivelled, and promised he'd see him again. Jon cried too, as he held him tight. Sam, who he'd saved when he'd joined the Night's Watch, Sam who'd promised to help save a poor young woman from her father when he had orders to do no such thing, Sam, who'd stood with him when he became Lord Commander and every decision since... his sweet Sam, his best friend.

"Take care of yourself," Jon said, "and don't let your lords fool and cheat you."

The next day he was brought to a wagon, and then they rattled out of the city, slowly, ever slowly. Why he still had to be kept hidden he didn't know, but once they joined with their army and the Riverland army, they offered him a horse, which he declined. He took food in his wagon, however, and let Arya in when she came.

"I would have killed them – I should have killed them all, Tyrion, Varys, all of them!"

"Arya," Jon begged, "please." She scowled but relented and sat on the bed beside him.

"Why are you in here anyway?" she asked, displeased. "The weather is nice, and some of the Riverland soldiers learned a fun game from the Dothraki on the way south. You're supposed to do it while riding, and..." She explained the game in great detail, and Jon wondered fleetingly how she still had her fingers. "And then you're to _stand up_! In the saddle, Jon!" He couldn't tell her it was because it was dark in his wagon, and he was alone, and no one looked at him, no one pitied him. Yet he appreciated her attempt at distracting him and let himself be swept away by her stories.

"Jaime Lannister killed Cersei, you know!" She said suddenly. "Can you remember what they looked like when they came to Winterfell?" Jon could remember. He'd looked at Jaime and thought _that_ was what a King was supposed to look like, not like the fat King Robert, who was his father's best friend! Thinking back, he was ashamed to remember how green he'd been, as if a man's looks decided his person. "I could hardly tell one from the other! Did you know, Brienne told me, Jaime used to wear her dresses!"

"I don't think Brienne owns dresses, Arya," Jon laughed.

"Not Brienne's! Cersei's, idiot! When they were young, and they would spend days pretending to be the other! But then he killed her. I suppose there is hope for all of us, in the end." Jon was happy, at least, that Jaime hadn't turned on them. It saddened him more than he expected when he heard of his death, but at least Yara Greyjoy had offered his wife a place on her ship as far as the Isle of Tarth.

Mostly they left Jon alone, and he sat, thinking, as the days rolled by and the leagues did too. All he did was think, until everything blurred, until all that had happened turned into some great conspiracy, until both Tyrion and Varys had never been their true friends at all but wanted the realm for themselves, until Bran had been orchestrating everything for _years_.

It was Bran who had insisted that Sam go south with them, with Gilly and little Sam as well. It was he who decided that Sansa stay and he himself go south, with Tyrion. Jon felt cold. Had he been part of the scheme, truly? He'd been there when Dany had been taken away, he must've Warged Drogon, or everyone in that room would've died, like Missandei had intended. He must've known... something.

Jon thought back and realised that Bran had decided many things, yet he usually went almost unnoticed, as if no one credited his suggestions to _him_. _Who is he?_ Jon wondered. _What_ is he? He was angry at Tyrion. Bran... he was afraid of Bran. Had everything since the Night King's death been his ministrations? Since even before then? Jon’s head swam.

He didn't dare call for Bran. They were past Moat Cailin when Bran came to him.

"You have questions," Bran said as he was carried in and put down in a sitting position on Jon's bed. Jon shifted, made room.

"You knew what was going to happen," he said at last. "You knew... everything." He couldn't keep the accusation from his tone, but it was the conclusion he had reached after weeks alone in the darkness of his wagon. He'd been afraid of Bran before, but he couldn't be that now, not when the boy was sitting on his bed with his dead legs and an expression that was so... forthcoming. "Did you orchestrate it all?"

"No. You overestimate my power."

"No one knows anything of your power!" Jon burst.

"I knew very little, had only glimpses. All I did was ensure that people were where they needed to be, to achieve the most advantageous outcome."

"Most advantageous to who?" Jon managed to wrangle past the thickness in his throat.

"Everyone. I didn't know my purpose in King's Landing before I was there, I only knew that I needed to stay by Tyrion's side. I realised only when she said the word; Dracarys. Jon, my power is limited, I can't change things, I can't decide things, I can only... nudge people slightly in the right direction, though often I don't know which direction that is or what will happen when I do. Jaime Lannister was never supposed to die. I saw him as the king of the Westerlands, not Tyrion, yet he's always been a particularly impulsive nature, too haphazard in his decisions to rely upon for anything."

Jon mulled over that for a while.

"You didn't know they would betray her?"

"I knew they might, but I thought the odds would tip in her favour after the battle of King's Landing. All I saw – all I thought I saw, was her on the throne."

"Could we have done nothing?" Jon asked, almost a whimper.

"We could have done many things. Jaime Lannister could've married Lysa Tully, you could've ridden Rhaegal, Jorah Mormont could've been her Hand. The past can't be changed, Jon. Let it go."

“How? How do we know that this is the best outcome? Why couldn’t she be queen? All we wanted was -!” Jon buried his face in his hands.

“The kingdoms were never meant to be seven. They’re too different, the lords are too proud, the animosity and the jealousy between them too great.”

“Why did they turn on us?” Jon asked. “How could they do such a thing?” Bran contemplated in silence for a while.

“I don’t know. She was too wilful, perhaps. They saw too much of Aerys in her. She is a woman and she had been merciless too many times, and deaf to their council.”

“Their council has brought her only destruction!” Jon argued. Bran only looked at him knowingly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew that's a lot, innit?
> 
> So much happened off screen here, and I apologise for that; originally I planned fror this story to be so much shorter than it turned out to be, so lots of stuff would happen off screen and I would just mention them. It doesn't work as well with a 'larger' story like this one, but writing out all that happened in this chapter with pov's going through it all would actually be too much of an undertaking, and I really don't have time for that now (sadly) because of work.
> 
> I hope things were clear anyway, and if you have questions about what happened, don't hesitate to ask them! I might even go back and edit again if this were truly unclear!
> 
> The reasons for the betrayal will come in Tyrion's chapter at the end, so this isn't all of that, for those of you still very confused about that particular part of this!
> 
> I hope this was a good and more likely 'ending' to the seven kingdoms than what we got in the show :)
> 
> Please tell me what you think! And again, my apologies for the delay with this chapter!


	10. Sansa

**SANSA**

Sansa hadn't known, that morning when she woke, that she'd been named Queen in the North. She knew that her family would return to her before nightfall, and that they were all well, and that Queen Daenerys had gone mad and been executed by the people of King's Landing, yet she had not known that she was a Queen.

Arya had laughed out loud when they arrived and it had been announced, making everyone in the courtyard kneel in the snow. She'd grown sultry when they'd called her Princess, which Sansa had enjoyed in turn.

She comforted Jon as best she could, with silence and a lingering embrace. Nothing good had ever come from a Stark going south, and Jon was still a Stark, more than he would ever be Targaryen, though he'd played the part for a short while.

The four of them, the remaining Starks, had taken their evening meal together. It was tense in the beginning, and Sansa could not forget that she sat at table with a Faceless Assassin, the Three Eyed Raven (a title she didn't even understand), and a man who'd been killed, come back to life, and revealed to be the son of a dead Prince. And who was she? Sansa Stark, sold and sold again, a pawn in others' games. But no more.

"I suppose I'll have to marry," she said. Arya grimaced, like the thought disgusted her.

"You'll come to love someone," Jon hoped.

"Yes. King's Landing is full of stupid blond knights after the battle, you could have any one of them!" Arya quipped.

"The North already has an alliance with the Stormlands," Bran said in his even voice, with the hint of a wry look in Arya's direction. She had the decency to blush like a girl for once.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Jon asked and looked from one to the other. Sansa laughed at him.

"Arya will be going south when spring comes," Bran said with a grin.

"You weren't supposed to hear that! And besides, I'll only be going south to get rid of you lot! And he'll have had Davos make his fleet by then, and the Stormlands will be trading all over the world!”

"Davos? Isn't he Lord of King's Landing?"

"It's part of the Stormlands, because King's Landing would've been Gendry's seat anyway if he'd taken the throne." There were more politics involved than that, Sansa knew, but she didn't say anything.

"You're going to marry Gendry Baratheon?" Jon blurted.

"You're going to be Queen of the Stormlands!" Sansa gasped in pretended mockery.

"He'll call me m'lord if it please me!" Arya growled, but she giggled too.

"Maybe you can marry the boy-king in the Vale, didn't you spend some time with him?" Jon asked, and looked at Sansa.

"Sweetrobin!" Sansa exclaimed. "No, I could never! Poor thing."

"We could use an alliance with the Iron Islands," Jon said, growing a bit more serious. Arya would have none of it.

"Yes! You should marry Queen Yara, to keep her from raiding our lands. She'll only be raising _your_ lands then."

"Arya!" Sansa exclaimed, and the table erupted in giggles as Arya almost seem to fall from her chair at the look on Jon’s face.

"I've heard she likes that sort of thing," Arya grinned. Jon looked like he'd rather be anywhere but in that room in that moment.

Sansa huffed. "No, I'll get a husband in time. But this time _I'll_ chose _him_. A good, strong man, a proper Northman. Maybe I should marry Torrhen Forrester. He doesn't have much significance, but the people love him and his older brother is the heir."

"Ew. He's ancient," Arya said.

"He's not yet thirty!" Sansa exclaimed. "You weren't here, he's already made a great difference in Winterfell. The glass gardens have been restored and he's been leading the repairs on the walls himself."

"He's a big brute."

"He's very kind, and though he speaks harshly, he never means it. He has kind eyes." Sansa knew about kind eyes. He might be large, and dark and bearded and ten years older than her, but he never beat anyone even when they did stupid things, he never yelled even when he was angry, and he was a fierce fighter. And still he had not a bad mind for politics and he seemed to trust Sansa's judgement. And she liked his grey eyes, slanting a bit downward, yet already crinkled with lines from laughing, though only a bit.

Arya huffed at her, but Jon was looking at her intently, with the smallest smile on his face.

*

Three days later, at daybreak, a party went into the godswood and watched as Sansa Stark kneeled before the Heart Tree and swore to be just, to be brave, to be kind and honourable, and to never ask any actions of her lords or bannermen that would bring them into dishonour. Titles had been given the evening before, and one after the other, the Lords of the North knelt and swore beneath the Weirwood as the Queen had done.

Later in the Great Hall they all swore fealty to the Queen in the North, and swore that their children, and grandchildren, would do the same, now and forever. The celebrations lasted through the night, and Sansa even thought Jon was enjoying himself when he wasn't alone – when he couldn't think his own dark thoughts and grow sullen, like he always did these days.

That little taste of happiness was not enough to sway him, however, and it came as a surprise to both her and Arya when he announced a short while later that he would be leaving for the Wall.

"What is there but snow and ice and cold?" Sansa had asked. Even now the snow was falling heavily outside.

"The Free Folk. Where no one kneels to anyone." _Away from this rotten place_ , was what Sansa heard. She couldn't blame him, however. Jon had lost everything in the war, everything but the Free Folk. He'd been Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, he'd been King in the North, he would've married the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms... all that remained of his legacy were the Free Folk, the ones he'd died protecting. And now he'd been faced by a similar betrayal. Sansa understood him, understood the pain she saw in his eyes every day. He had loved the Targaryen queen, and the brutal way she’d been taken from him must’ve shook him badly, but he hid it well. Sometimes Sansa wished he didn’t, that he would come to her, speak to her so she could try to comfort him, but she understood why he didn’t. So, she had no choice but to let him go, even though she would’ve liked it if he stayed.

It had been a great comfort to them all when Jon had stepped away from Bran after their embrace, and the other had said; "this is not the last time we see each other, Jon."

"May the Old Gods keep you safe," Sansa whispered in his ear when they embraced. He looked surprised at her words, then smiled as if he was happy, proud.

"And you."

Arya jumped into his arms like a little girl and he ruffled her hair, then he mounted his horse and waved his goodbye, falling in line with the escort that was to bring him safe to the Wall. Sansa, Arya, and Bran watched him leave until they lost sight of him amongst the trees in the Wolf's Wood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that is the end for the Starks, some safe and together at Winterfell, and angsty Jon in his self-imposed exile.
> 
> So as you can see I've kept most of the characters' endgame from the series, Jon going beyond the wall, Sansa as Queen in the North, dead Dany, but the way and the reasons they got there are different. I can understand Jon wanting to join the freefolk, but him going there only to please the Unsullied who left Westeros anyway didn't really make sense to me.  
> I can see Jon killing Dany like in the show in a way, but as I wrote it I couldn't make it fit because Jon didn't really see the horrors himself and he kind of understood that it had happened because of Rhaegal, so it seemed natural to me that the people of King's Landing would demand her death.  
> I changed Arya's ending because I've always seen her as a family-person. She deserves to be with her family now, and she's also wanted to be 'a lord' and I think that with Gendry she could be that, it seemed to make sense to me, and also politically with a marriage between a king and a Queen's sister. And of couse with Gendry Arya can get all the adventure she wants.  
> Bran was more difficult because the show has kind of given him no purpose, until alluvasudden he was king. It came too out-of-nowhere for me (in show-context, I'm sure grrm can make it work if that's his endgame) and also we know so little of his powers, so I put him in the north because that's where the old gods are strongest and because that's the family home.
> 
> Anyway - thank you for reading, I'm interested to know what you think!
> 
> Only one more chapter now!


	11. Tyrion

**TYRION**

A party had been sent ahead to ready Casterly Rock and inform the current castellan that King Tyrion Lannister was coming home. The roads weren't easy; this far south the ground had not yet frozen hard and the snow, which was falling steadily, would melt on the ground during the day and turn to ice during the night. In the morning they risked slipping on the ice and during the day they walked in mud where the roads had been poorly kept. Tyrion decided to stay in the wagon instead of riding, out of the cold and the ever falling snow.

He had hoped to stay longer in King's Landing; it hardly felt like the negotiations had begun yet he was one of the last new monarchs to leave. Lord Davos had made it clear that he wanted Tyrion and his army of Lannisters, sellswords of The Golden Company, and the city guards who were still Lannister loyalists to leave as soon as they had packed their horses. Tyrion would not be asked twice.

Still, it had been suspicious when King Gendry had so gracelessly invited King Samwell to stay with him and negotiate after the rest had gone. It was made painfully clear to Tyrion that he was unwanted, and it made him angry to think that such open disdain as they now showed would have gotten them mocked out of court in the King's Landing of the Seven Kingdoms. Before he might have tried to _force_ a place for himself in those negotiations, but he knew that the Lannister gold mines were emptying quickly, all already void, and that he had little else to offer besides a people that had never loved him, and that might never accept his rule.

Casterly Rock was warm and inviting when they arrived, and it stood as tall and proud as it had ever done. The castle itself didn't seem to have taken any damage when the Unsullied seized it, and for that he was glad. At this point he believed the cost of repair would be too heavy, and he could only hope that the foodstores were enough to keep his household loyal and satisfied through the winter.

They arrived late and he was tired from the journey, but asked Varys to join him for a little while none the less. They were brought a meagre meal and a mug of mulled wine, then Tyrion asked to be left alone.

"Do you still believe that we did the right thing?" Tyrion asked.

"You saw what she did to the city, my lord," Varys remarked silently. He ate little and didn't touch the wine. Tyrion hummed.

"Her dragon had just been killed in the streets, somehow I find justification for her actions."

“After you saw what she had done? Could you, even then, pity her?” Tyrion didn’t answer and Varys sighed, long-suffering. "Daenerys Targaryen was a conqueror. Conquerors don’t make good kings. Or queens. You know what happened in Astapor, you know what happened in Meereen. She brought her foreign army of Unsullied and her base Dothraki screamers and expected people to bow at her feet. Which they did, when they saw the dragons. A wise decision. But fear was is not what the realm needs, and I only serve the realm."

"And which realm is that?" Tyrion groused drily. There were eight of them now. "The realm of men?" he huffed. Varys didn't answer, nor had Tyrion expected him to.

"Jon would have made a far better king."

"Jon would have been easier to manipulate, you mean." Tyrion drank more wine. “Did you mean to kill her?” His voice broke as he said it. He hadn’t let himself think about – that. For so long he had to keep a cool façade, to _seem_ sure in his actions and decisions, but for so long he felt like he’d only been swept along in the madness of war. Then Varys had told him, the night before the battle of King’s Landing, of his plan _should_ Daenerys make the wrong choices. They had talked of her before, her nature, her fitness to rule. What would her kingdom look like? Varys had a plan for every outcome, while Tyrion had barely managed to stick to the one plan they did have; put Daenerys on the throne. He wanted that to succeed, he believed in her, he’d wanted her there. Then she’d massacred a city, and Varys had set in motion his plan without further discussions.

“I had hoped to avoid it, though it seemed unlikely. With the dragon gone it might have been possible, but alas, the people want what they want and we cannot always refuse them.”

“We should have,” Tyrion groused. “She didn’t deserve to die.” Varys had no reply for that. “It could have worked. Jon didn’t want to be king, but he could have married her, ruled beside her; a just woman and an honourable man. Together –”

“Perhaps,” Varys admitted off-handedly. "It is all speculation now. My lord, since the Conquest the Seven Kingdoms have been fighting with each other, scheming and plotting and never truly at peace."

"And you think now they might know peace? Even before the conquest the kingdoms were at war with each other. War is inevitable."

“Yes. But perhaps, for a time, no one will think of war. Perhaps a generation or two might know peace and rest, time to heal their wounds, time to grow strong again. In five of the eight kingdoms the monarchs fought beside each other against the dead, already they are making alliances to keep the peace, and to dissuade the other kingdoms from going to war. Yes, I believe that peace, for a time, is possible.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end!
> 
> I hope you liked this little fic of mine. I apologise that it's not more typically fanfic-y, that wasn't really what I was going for, but I hope you enjoyed it anyway.
> 
> Some of you are probably wondering what happened to Drogon - difficult to say really. While it's obvious that Bran warged him, where did he take him? Maybe he checked on Valyria, to see if it's inhabitable now (at least by dragons), maybe he put him in some lonely hills with lots of goats in Essos, maybe he found a mine and made him change name to Smaug! Perhaps he even made sure he died, who knows.
> 
> I see some of you are expecting Tyrion to be assassinated or at least punished somehow - maybe he was, or maybe his smallfolk and lords overthrew him when spring came, or maybe he ruled for many years and had children and found another way to make sure the Lannisters stayed as rich and golden as they used to be.
> 
> Please tell me what you think, if you have questions, don't hesitate to ask them!
> 
> Thank you for staying with me to the end :)

**Author's Note:**

> As I'm told I change POV too often (fuck... can't help it now) I'll be putting a picture of the POV character at the top of each chapter. If you have FANART of the character you'd like to see displayed and credited (of course) instead, hit me up in the comment section, and we'll figure something out! (I have POV's from Jaime, Daenerys, Arya, Brienne, Jon, Sansa and Tyrion, fyi.)


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